


Inked

by ellerean



Series: Inked [1]
Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 13:59:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2431406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellerean/pseuds/ellerean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Each time the Samezuka Motorcycle Club passed Haru's tattoo parlor, he noticed that one member in the red leather jacket who'd never come to see him.</p><p>Then one day, he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> THERE'S ART FOR THIS FIC *loves on everyone*  
> [pennyofthewild](http://letsswimtogethernanase.tumblr.com/post/99695115928)  
> [thora-hathi](http://letsswimtogethernanase.tumblr.com/post/104851538548)  
> [velocesmells](http://letsswimtogethernanase.tumblr.com/post/112654632738)  
> [littletornviolet](http://littletornviolet.tumblr.com/post/114830209367)  
> [xunovi](http://xunovi.tumblr.com/post/136493774211)

The tattoo parlor wasn’t found on the main road, nor did it outwardly advertise what it was. Its exterior was painted a deep blue, and the sign overhead bore only the sole artist’s name in elaborately-scripted blue neon— _Haru’s_. Upon stepping through its doors, there were no samples on the wall or framed photographs with famous clients. Instead it was like stepping into the ocean, the walls and the counter painted with blue waves. The only suggestion that the quiet man inside the parlor was a tattoo artist at all was the binder atop the counter, which contained photographs of the art he’d inked onto his clients.

Haru sat on a stool behind the counter, twirling an indistinct mechanical pencil in his right hand. A sketchbook lay open to a blank page, save for a name neatly printed on the top: Sousuke.

Sousuke had been clear about what he wanted—a phoenix on his back, rising from the flames—but this was Haru’s third attempt to draw something that would suit him.

For the tattoo parlor didn’t have stock images, and Haru refused to ink the same design twice. Each was tailored to his client, and they willingly waited out the week it may take for Haru to be satisfied with their request.

But Sousuke’s phoenix was troublesome.

“Watercolor,” he murmured, setting pencil to paper again.

Haru was known for his work throughout the Samezuka Motorcycle Club. Each of its members sported something that had once been sketched while Haru sat at that counter, or in the park across from his apartment complex, or sitting up in bed. He liked working with them, because they weren’t boring. Seijuro had a shark on his biceps, being creator of the club and its name. His younger brother had wanted the same; Haru had designed something similar, but unique to Momotaro in its color and style. Nitori had a vine of morning glories across his shoulder blades. Sousuke already had a trident on his calf and, if Haru could ever figure it out, a phoenix would soon take flight on his back.

It was hard to miss Samezuka when they came roaring through town; the rev of their engines could be heard long before they passed. Whenever they took a trip out they’d always pass by Haru’s parlor and wave, even if they couldn’t see Haru waving back.

He knew each of them by name, insisting on using given names. Family names were too formal, especially when they’d expose their naked skin to his needle. But each time the group passed his shop, and he watched each individual biker, there was one he noticed who had never stepped inside his parlor.

Their faces weren’t visible from behind their helmets, but most of Samezuka had spent enough time in the parlor that he knew them by their bodies, by the arm or leg he’d spent hours bent over. The unknown member was a mystery—the club always passed too fast, but the flash of a red leather jacket was unmistakable.

Haru wasn’t one to pressure someone to get a tattoo, and he didn’t care if the mystery group member ever did, but he couldn’t deny his curiosity. The others had all come to visit him, like a rite of passage. But one never had.

A bike roared up in front of the parlor, and Haru glanced up from his sketch to see Sousuke dismount. He pulled off his helmet, shaking out his dark hair and running a hand through to tame it. He tucked the helmet under his arm and opened the door.

“Haru,” he said, taking two long strides to the counter. He glanced at the open book and the sketch beginning to take form. “Hey, is that mine?”

“Your phoenix is troublesome,” he said, closing the book. “I’m not done.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Sousuke looked around, as if there was anything to look at. Haru wore a sleeveless top and Sousuke’s eyes fell to the artist’s own tattoo, a merman that stretched from shoulder to elbow. His normal wear was T-shirts, which showed off only the tail, but that day the merman’s sculpted chest and dark, wavy hair was in clear view for all to see.

“You know,” Sousuke said, jerking his chin toward Haru’s arm, “most guys get mermaids.”

“Most guys like girls.” Haru’s indifferent expression remained unchanged. “What do you want?”

He leaned over the counter and Haru sat back on his stool, taking the sketchbook with him. Haru wasn’t secretive about his sexuality, but still disliked when men—or anyone—got too close. It was the reason for the counter; only those he was currently working on were permitted behind it. But he allowed the biker group to tease him because most of them were gay, too.

“I’ve got a friend,” Sousuke said, leaning his arms on the counter.

“Are you talking about yourself?” Haru asked.

“No.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Boyfriend?”

“No! C’mon, Haru. He wants to get some ink, but he’s a little nervous about it.”

There were the people who slowed as they walked past the parlor, or held the door handle before turning away without entering. Or they’d come into the parlor, be greeted by Haru’s silent nod, and then walk out without saying a word.

“Belonephobic?”

Sousuke shook his head. “Nah, he’s just being a big baby.”

A small smile crossed Haru’s face and he stood, setting the sketchbook back on the countertop. “Am I scary?”

“Not any scarier than most tattoo artists.”

But in comparison, Haru seemed almost . . . normal. The merman was his only visible tattoo, and an industrial piercing decorated one of his ears. Samezuka members often told him that he didn’t _look_ like a tattoo artist, and he’d counter that they didn’t look like much of a biker gang.

“If he wants to come,” Haru said, “then he’ll come.”

He didn’t have to ask who Sousuke’s mystery friend was. And later that week, when a bike with red chrome pulled in front of the shop, he knew exactly who it was.

Haru silently nodded when he came through the door, and the man offered a slight smile as he set his helmet on the floor and went for the binder. Haru sat back on his stool, leaned over his sketchbook, but lifted his eyes to watch.

He turned the pages slowly, studying each design like he hadn’t seen most of them before. Most were, of course, from members of the Samezuka club. His red hair was a curtain across his face, longer than most men’s, but not too long. When he’d come in, Haru had noticed that it fell to the nape of his neck. A perfect length to pull into a low ponytail, he thought.

He knew the guy was inkless, and he had only a small earring in his right earlobe. Haru didn’t have to look too closely to see it was a tiny shark. He vaguely wondered where its pair was.

“This is good,” the man said, pointing to a page. Haru sat up straighter to look.

It wasn’t one of his club member’s, which explained the man’s fixation. Haru had always been partial to that one himself, but anyone looking around his parlor would know he was partial to water—it was a full sleeve of the ocean, with white-capped waves and undersea creatures wound around the forearm.

“When she flexed,” Haru said, sitting back again, “the waves moved.”

“Wow.”

When he reached the end of the binder, the pages crashed to the countertop as he flipped them all back to the beginning. Haru took a moment to take more of him in. It was a habit to study his clients, to determine what colors and styles suited them, but never had he stared so openly. If the man noticed, he didn’t let on. From his spot behind the counter Haru could only see above the waist, but had noticed his leather pants when he’d walked through the door. Not too tight, so he could comfortably ride, but fitted enough to accentuate his muscular legs. His short red leather jacket was zipped only a couple inches, his black V-neck tee strained over his pecs.

“What do you want?” Haru asked, staring at the sharp line of his jaw.

“I’m just looking,” he replied, glancing up.

Haru looked back down at his sketchbook, distracted by the firelike blaze in his eyes. “I know.”

Red suited him, of course. And despite his dark colors and his sneer, also pink. Haru stared at the outline of Sousuke’s phoenix, unable to remember what he’d been doing with it. Why couldn’t he think of anything else for this man? Red was too obvious. But he was all fire, bursting into his cool parlor with his red hair and the awkward fidgeting as he tried to conceal his nerves.

“How much do you charge?” he asked.

Haru closed the sketchbook. He was talking business now; he couldn’t be distracted. “Depends on what you want.”

“Tch.” He closed the binder and looked around, as if noticing the interior’s paint job for the first time. “Most guys have shots of their work on the walls or somethin’.”

Haru shrugged. “Don’t need ’em.”

The man rapped two fingers hard on the binder’s plastic cover. Even the cover was indistinct, a simple cursive “Haru’s” on plain white paper tucked into the clear sleeve. “I’ll be back,” he said. Haru straightened, peering over the counter as he crouched to pick his helmet off the floor. His short jacket lifted slightly, exposing a pale strip of skin and the black band of his underwear. Haru flopped back down when the man stood again.

“What’s your name?” Haru asked.

He paused before pushing the helmet down over his head. Haru stared at the slight wisps of red hair that escaped around the edges. “Matsuoka.”

“Your given name.”

He flipped up the visor and, for the first time, full-out grinned. In those seconds he wasn’t the fidgety prospective client; he _was_ fire, blazing over the cool walls of the parlor and warming Haru’s cheeks. “Rin,” he said, and flipped the visor back down. He waved over his shoulder as he turned to open the door. “See you later, Haru.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO EXCITED about this AU. You have no idea.
> 
> (chapter is [here](http://letsswimtogethernanase.tumblr.com/post/99608687778) on tumblr.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so pleased with the response for the fic. It's been a long time coming, guys. Enjoy these dumb boys ;)

In a burst of midnight inspiration, Haru finished the phoenix sketch.

He could claim it was the white noise of rain, the light staccato on the windowsill of his bedroom. Haru always kept the window open during a storm, as long as too much water didn’t get in. The latter was request of the landlord; she hadn’t been pleased by the new mildew scent of damp carpeting.

But that evening the swing-arm lamp clamped to his headboard shone a single beam on his sketchbook, the only light in the apartment. The rain continued its steady beat, and he felt the occasional low rumble of thunder in his marrow. At eleven o’clock he’d sat up against the headboard, his sketchbook propped on his knees, and drew Sousuke’s tattoo without ceasing.

Haru had a habit of drawing the client, too, at least in outline. The rough sketch of Sousuke’s back strained against the page’s margins, and within its borders was the phoenix bursting forth along the curve of his spine.

He didn’t often color sketches—it was pointless to put forth so much effort into something the client may want to change—but Haru rifled through the bedside drawer for his pencils, the cheap box he’d had since high school, worn down to half their original length. He dumped the pencils onto the blanket, not caring in the slightest if he marked up the bedding, and wasn’t surprised that he’d picked up the red first.

The design was mostly that color, at least on his lower back. But Haru stared at the red pencil, squinting as if the spotlight wasn’t enough. A roll of thunder vibrated the bed, the storm closer now, and for the first time he imagined someone curled beneath the blankets beside him.

It wasn’t an unpleasant thought, but it made the hair on his arms stand on end. Haru peeled off his T-shirt, simultaneously warm and cold, finding a small comfort in the plush blanket on his bare skin. He rubbed his arm like he could feel the scales of the merman that graced his skin. He slid a hand into the band of his shorts, tugging them down low enough to reveal the small fish near the curve of his pelvis. It almost _looked_ like a Jesus fish, and the artist who’d done it had thought it was; Haru hadn’t bothered correcting him. For one, it was blue, and no simple Jesus fish had the wavy lines of the ocean on its body. He smiled, tracing the lines with his fingernail, remembering the soothing buzz of the first time he’d heard a tattoo needle.

He took up the red pencil again and began to shade the flames of Sousuke’s phoenix.

 

* * *

 

He’d texted Sousuke that his sketch was complete—rarely did he call—so when the motorcycle roared to a stop in front of his shop, he hadn’t been expecting anyone else.

Rin strode through the door, helmet under his arm, his face-splitting grin showing perfectly-white teeth. Haru had tried not to think about him. He couldn’t know if Rin would return, and refused to acknowledge the thump in his chest when he spied that red hair outside the window.

“Rin,” he said, sitting back on his stool.

“Oh! You remember me!” Rin smiled wider, and Haru glared at the helmet he set on the counter. Rin either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “I’ve got an idea.” He pulled off his leather jacket, and Haru was glad he was sitting—Rin wore a deep purple muscle shirt beneath the jacket, which he now pulled down one of the straps. He was talking, but Haru could only envision the designs that could encircle those biceps. Or spread across the shoulder Rin turned to him. He waited for Haru’s reply, twisting around to stare at the blank canvas of his trapezius.

“What?” Haru jerked his head up.

“It’ll look awesome,” Rin said, pulling up his shirt again. “Maybe just a little shark, ’cause I’ve never been inked, you know? And that way it would match—”

“No.”

“W-What do you mean, _no_?” Rin sputtered, dramatically flailing his arms at the seemingly indifferent tattoo artist. Haru gripped the edges of the stool as he panned Rin’s body: the muscle shirt was nicely-fitted, hinting at the chiseled abs beneath. His biceps were toned without flexing, which Haru was strangely envious of.

“Turn around,” Haru said, and Rin complied without question.

Something _would_ work on the back of his shoulder, but not a shark. Rin glanced over his shoulder, studying the man who studied him. Haru dipped his eyes down to his belt, which was braided leather, wishing the shirt was just a little shorter.

“Is that really what you want?” Haru asked.

“I . . . uh . . .” Rin turned again to face him, and Haru wished he hadn’t. He had no problem studying the canvas of his body, but his face was a different matter. Rin, too, had trouble keeping eye contact, and for a moment Haru wondered if he _should_ put something on the walls. It would give them something to look at, a distraction from the obvious avoidance of the other’s eyes.

“The ink is alive,” Haru said. “It’s a permanent reflection of yourself.” Rin tugged at the hem of his shirt, which pulled the collar down slightly over his chest. “But it’s nothing to fear. Don’t resist your ingrained being. Accept who you are, and the ink will accept you.”

Rin watched his fingers pick at the hem, which tugged down the shirt even more. Haru stared straight at his breastbone, at the rounded curve of his pecs. He slowly looked up when Rin nodded.

“Sounds crazy,” he said, “but I get it. N-Not that I’m afraid, or anything!”

Haru didn’t miss a beat. “Of course not.”

Rin opened his mouth but was cut off by the roar of an engine, by the client Haru had actually been waiting for. Rin looked relieved when Sousuke strode through the door.

“Hey!” Sousuke kneed the back of Rin’s thigh when he approached. “Make up your mind?”

Rin looked to Haru who had tilted his head curiously, as if challenging him. Then, Rin smiled and shrugged his jacket back on. “Nah. Oh, is your sketch done? Can I see?”

They both leaned over the sketchbook Haru now opened, arms folded on the counter in the way people who spend too much time together mirror each other. Haru watched their expressions rather than the sketch, the latter of which he'd already seen a dozen times since the night before. Rin’s eyes widened first, Sousuke’s soon to follow.

“You _drew_ that?” Rin asked. He hovered a hand over the corner of the sketchbook and Haru nodded, the silent permission that he could touch it. Rin touched the corner with two fingers, sliding it closer and away from Haru. “If you don’t get this,” Rin said, tilting the book toward Sousuke, “we’re never speaking again.”

When Sousuke looked up, he was beaming.

 

Rin was there for Sousuke’s outlining the following day, not that Haru minded. Friends of clients were not an uncommon sight at Haru’s, hovering beside the client or at the front counter. Rin was of the latter; Sousuke’s naked back was concealed from the shop front by a curtain, while Haru sat right outside it to watch the door. And, incidentally, Rin.

Rin was bustling with nervous energy. He jumped when Haru turned on the needle, and closed his eyes the moment it touched Sousuke’s skin. Haru had expected him to ask a lot of dumb questions, but he didn’t say anything. He was merely _there_ , like how the curtain was there, or the binder Rin animatedly flipped through for the third time that day. Then he leaned on the wall, closing his eyes, head tilted toward the ceiling. Haru never looked away from his canvas but was conscious of Rin’s buzzing, his breathing louder than the needle itself.

“You okay over there?” Rin asked, the first time he’d spoken since Sousuke had sat down.

Sousuke was leaned over what looked like an inclined masseuse’s chair, chin rested on the overstuffed blue vinyl, holding tennis balls in both hands that he hadn’t yet squeezed to alleviate the pain. “Don’t bother the artist,” he replied, laughing shallowly so as not to trip the needle on his back.

“He’s not bothering me,” Haru replied, leaning over farther.

Rin had removed his jacket and it lay over the counter, the arms of red leather dangling over Haru’s side like they reached for him. Rin looked good in black; the sleeves of his T-shirt were short, like a ladies tee, strained over his biceps. He had his back to Haru, looking out the front window now with his hands in his pockets, watching the occasional car or motorcycle pass.

“Have you decided?” Haru asked, without looking up.

There was a lilt in his voice that made it clear he wasn’t talking to Sousuke, that he was asking a question he genuinely didn’t know the answer to. Rin leaned back against the counter, its edge pressed to his back, his shoulder blades visible from Haru’s peripheral vision.

“It’s a tough decision, y’know?” Rin said, drumming his fingers on the countertop. “How’d you decide on the merman?”

Haru’s biceps twitched, as if the ink replied itself. “I like the water.”

Rin turned and leaned over the counter as far as he could. “That can’t be the only reason.”

Sousuke couldn’t see Haru’s slight smile from his position, nor did Rin recognize it as an anomaly. Rin couldn’t know how rare those smiles were, how there were few instances his mouth involuntary turned up into one. “I like to swim,” Haru said, turning off the needle. The parlor was eerily silent, the sound still buzzing in his ears as he ripped opened an alcohol wipe. “Need a break?” Haru asked, as he wiped down a section of Sousuke’s back.

“Yeah, sure.”

Rin leaned farther over the counter, one foot popping off the floor. “Lemme see.”

“Come around the normal way,” Haru said, jerking his chin toward the swinging side door.

Now, Sousuke did squeeze a tennis ball as Rin stood behind him, gripping harder the longer he didn’t speak. Haru was facing Sousuke as well, but his gaze wasn't on his client—Rin visually traced each outlined spike of fire and the long curve of the phoenix’s unfinished wing. He extended a hand, pushing it back into his pocket before Haru could tell him not to touch.

“Wow.”

“Looking good?” Sousuke asked, not having turned.

“Yeah. It’s amazing.”

Haru stood, stretching his shoulders back to feel the _pop_ in his spine. He massaged his arm, gouging his thumb into the merman’s chest. By the time Rin had turned toward him Haru was no longer staring, having moved to pull back a curtain on the back wall to unveil a full-length mirror. He grabbed a second mirror from the floor, motioned with one finger for Sousuke to turn the chair around, and then stood behind him to reveal the beginning of the outline to the man who bore it.

Sousuke whistled low. “You weren’t kidding.”

Though Sousuke has switched positions Rin had followed, standing beside Haru as he held up the mirror. While Sousuke admired the reflection of his back, Haru stared directly into Rin’s reflected eyes.

Haru blinked passively, the microseconds he closed his eyes the only moments he didn’t stare directly into Rin’s. He’d been expecting Rin to stare back but he hadn’t expected it to feel so _fierce_ ; they stood close without touching, but it was the reflection he felt, not the toned and sculpted body beside him. If Haru looked away for a second he’d have believed the smirk was imagined, that the corner of Rin’s lip hadn’t twitched at Haru’s reflection. When Haru finally lowered the mirror, his peripheral vision confirmed that Rin’s mouth was set in a firm line like the exchange had never happened.

“Okay to continue?” Haru asked, and Sousuke nodded, swiveling back around on the chair.

“I’ve gotta head out,” Rin said, sidestepping around the curtain as he reached for his jacket. “Can’t wait to see it.” He grinned at them both, and Haru held the silent needle in his poised fingers until long after the door closed behind him.

 

* * *

 

It was a good night for the sauna.

The steam room wasn’t as busy during the week, especially late, when the businessmen had already retired for the night. Haru’s parlor didn’t open until noon, so he didn’t care that he stayed in the sauna until its ten o’clock closing.

He knotted a towel around his waist and was greeted by a cloud of steam as he stepped into the room. Haru was clearly the youngest—and fittest—in the room; the older men opened one sleepy eye as he padded by them barefoot. He went for an unoccupied bench, far enough away that no one would try to make idle conversation.

Sousuke’s session that day was longer than he typically liked to go. Twice he’d suggested they stop, but Sousuke wanted to finish. It made no difference to Haru, but his shoulders ached from leaning over him too long and it felt like the needle was still clutched in his cramped fingers. He sighed, stretching his neck to either side, feeling more and more relieved when the steam room began to empty out.

Haru wasn’t so confident that he’d remove his towel, like some men, but had no qualms about spreading his knees, the towel dipping between his thighs. He lay his arms on the bench above, reaching to either side of the room, the steam penetrating his sore muscles and the crick in his hand. He was unsurprised that Rin’s face bloomed before his closed eyelids, those eyes and that smirk and the way his skin shifted beneath his muscle shirt.

A shark? Haru slowly shook his head, the edge of the bench behind him massaging his neck. A shark was too _obvious_. Seijuro and Momotaro had sharks; it made sense for them, but not for Rin. He was trying too hard. He thought it looked cool, and perhaps it would, but it wasn’t what he wanted.

Haru had known it for sure that day, as Rin watched—he was spitfire but also curious, his physique a good cover for his oversensitivity. Maybe he could fool the Samezuka Club with his boisterous laugh and red leather, but he couldn’t fool Haru.

The steam room was warm but Haru was suddenly _too_ warm, his cheeks the color of Rin’s hair, the blush spreading across his ears and the bridge of his nose. He sighed in frustration, the towel tented at his groin. He closed his legs, but it wasn’t any more comfortable. Haru rearranged the towel—though it would still be obvious to anyone who entered the sauna—and leaned back again, the steam wafting over his naked skin like the delicate touch of fingertips. When he spread his knees the hot air tickled his inner thighs, like he imagined a tongue would.

When he opened his eyes he was alone. The clock read fifteen minutes to closing. He set a hand on his groin, over the towel, telling himself he stroked it just to get it over with, or maybe it would go down on its own. It was disgusting—it was the sauna’s borrowed towel—and he froze, stopping himself before he relieved himself in a public area.

Ten minutes to closing and Haru was scrambling to his feet, knotting the towel in a fist to prevent it from sliding off. He yanked open the sauna’s door to welcome the brisk, dry air, hurrying past the attendant lest he notice anything amiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [SleepingTsundere](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepingTsundere/pseuds/SleepingTsundere) was probably kidding when she said "The ink is alive." Little did she know I'd actually use it.
> 
> (chapter is [here](http://letsswimtogethernanase.tumblr.com/post/100100610468) on tumblr.)


	3. Chapter 3

When Sousuke returned for the coloring, he came alone. Even as he positioned himself in the chair, stretching his back before the long session, Haru kept on glancing out the window in case a second bike pulled in front of the parlor. But the street was silent, and Haru tugged on the curtain to conceal his work from the prying eyes of passersby. Already pinned up to the curtain’s interior, within full view of them both, was the full-colored phoenix sketch. They’d scheduled the full coloring for that afternoon, though Haru had mentioned several times that they could finish it over multiple sessions. Sousuke, however, was insistent.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” Haru said, as he snapped on white latex gloves.

“Fine,” Sousuke replied, taking one final deep breath before the needle touched his back.

Haru never enjoyed the start of the coloring process. The darker colors were always first, and for a while the design merely looked like a sea of black ink. Sousuke was too tense but he slowly relaxed, as they all did after the first few minutes. Haru had put on music—Soundscapes from the Sea—which sometimes put clients to sleep, but he didn’t mind as long as they didn’t fall off the chair.

But Sousuke was wide awake, staring at the floor and tossing a tennis ball from one hand to the other, not so much to relieve the pain but more to keep himself preoccupied.

“Heard you talked Rin out of the shark,” Sousuke said.

Haru didn’t look up. “Mmm.”

“Good.” Sousuke laughed shallowly, an attempt not to jostle his back. “But now he won’t shut up about what to get. Make sure he doesn’t do something stupid.”

“He’ll get what suits him.”

Haru rolled his stool to the other side, its wheels squeaking over the hardwood floor. He waited for Sousuke to exhale a deep breath before setting the needle to skin again.

It wasn’t the most intimate of places for a tattoo, though its size made it feel so. He’d inked more questionable areas before, the customers more nervous over their nudity than the needle touching the sensitive skin. His own hidden tattoo was done by a female artist, who’d laughed and said she’d seen her fair share of dicks over her professional years. Haru was able to keep his underwear on during the session—at least enough to cover himself up, slipping one leg out of his boxers and almost regretting he’s selected such a bony area to get his first ink. She’d been the only one to ever see it.

When Haru was preoccupied with a client, he’d put a “tattoo in progress” sign on the parlor’s front door. It didn’t mean no one could enter, but it meant they shouldn’t expect an immediate reply. If one at all. Someone came in during Sousuke’s session to browse the binder—Haru offered her a slight nod without looking up—and she took a business card from the binder's inside pocket before leaving. Her presence lasted a mere five minutes.

“Isn’t that bad for business?” Sousuke asked, once the door swung closed.

“They come back.”

He worked silently, occasionally glancing up at the sketch but mostly down at the emerging phoenix on Sousuke’s back. The design didn’t require much additional black outside the outline, and Haru was sitting back and flipping off the machine in record time. The surround sound speakers bled cawing seagulls and crashing waves in the sudden silence of the parlor.

“Take a break.” Haru spun around to clean out the needle, dipping it into a shot glass until the water turned opaque. As Sousuke sat up to stretch, the front door banged open and Haru spied Aiichiro slinking through the door.

Sousuke peered around the curtain and grinned. “Good timing,” he said, as Aiichiro bounced toward the counter. “Wanna get me a drink?”

“Senpai!” Aiichiro gripped the counter as he stood up straighter. “You shouldn’t be drinking during your session!”

“Not _alcohol_ ,” he said with a sigh. Haru smiled with his back to them.

“Anything for you, Haru-sensei?” Aiichiro asked.

“Just Haru,” he said, not for the first time. He finally spun around in the stool. “Nothing for me.” He nodded to the gallon of water at his feet as he wiped the tattoo machine with a cloth. “Thank you.”

Now that Sousuke was sitting upright, it was easier to visualize the finished product. Haru studied the lines of the phoenix, glancing at the sketch even though he knew where the colors would go. Sousuke only had to slightly crane his neck for Haru to get up, procuring the mirrors so he could see the progress.

Sousuke nodded as Haru stood behind him. “This is why I come to you,” he said, as the door banged open again.

“You still in here?” Rin’s voice boomed over the small parlor, overshadowing Soundscapes from the Sea. From behind the curtain, they heard the faint patter of Aiichiro's feet before the door closed.

“Your soda, Sousuke-senpai!”

“Come see,” Sousuke said, only his waving hand visible in the lobby from behind the curtain.

“It’s not done,” Haru mumbled, even as the bikers crowded around him.

With the client’s chair in place, the space was just large enough for Haru to move around and work. But with two additional people it was _crowded_ , the small band of Samezuka members marveling over the partially-colored outline. Haru still held the mirror up behind Sousuke, its frame sweating in his two-handed grip. Rin and Aiichiro hovered, both standing within equal distance at his sides, but Haru couldn’t feel Aiichiro at all. Not in comparison. His left side burned with Rin’s proximity, his forehead beading with sweat. He wished he could reach his water. He couldn’t get out without either of them moving, and neither one of them was moving. They huddled closer. Haru stared at the floor by his work table, at the gallon with the partially-unscrewed top that waited for his lips to touch its mouth. He swallowed dryly, concentrating on the crashing waves that filtered through the speakers.

“Let the man get back to work,” Sousuke said. Aiichiro, at least, sidestepped out of the curtained area, though Rin lingered.

At least Haru could move again, stashing the mirror behind the curtain and drinking half of his water when he sat back on the stool.

“You have any more tatts?” Rin asked, as Haru took up the machine. His hands were too sweaty to handle it, and he wiped his palm on his jeans.

“I have to work,” he replied. Sousuke tilted his head back as he drank his soda, then thrust the empty can against Rin’s chest.

“We’ll come back later,” Rin said, fumbling the soda can, and then the parlor was blissfully quiet as Haru flipped on the tattoo machine.

 

* * *

 

Sousuke had sat through the entire coloring.

Haru had closed up shop early and now lay in the humid air of the sauna, stretched across the bench and flexing his fingers. Only one other man occupied the room, leaned back with his eyes closed on the opposite bench.

Haru stretched out one leg, then the other, the towel occasionally slipping off his hip. He touched the fish tattoo without looking, knowing its precise location and its exact shape. He considered expanding upon it sometimes, but it was quaint in its simplicity . . .

He shivered when the door opened, the outside air icy compared to the damp of the sauna. Goose bumps tickled his forearms, though the cold rush was brief and he was soon encased in the heat again.

Haru pointed his feet, stretching his toes and his calves, sore after sitting too long at his stool. Sousuke would return when the tattoo had healed—he said Aiichiro had volunteered to help him slathered on the ointment—and then Haru could get a good photo for his portfolio. It would be the first page of the binder, he already decided.

“Haru?”

He didn’t have to open his eyes to place the voice; he didn’t want to open his eyes at all. Haru didn’t know how long Rin had been standing over him, staring at the white towel that kept on sliding off his hip. Now, his left side was exposed, the small towel just covering his groin and the nose of the fish tattoo partially exposed.

He opened his eyes anyway. “Hello, Rin.”

“Is this seat saved?”

Haru lazily shrugged a shoulder. “You can sit.”

Socializing with clients outside the parlor was not something he did. Rin wasn’t even a client yet; he hadn’t informed Haru of a decision, and they’d never exchanged money. Now, he sat near Haru’s head with the same small towel around his hips, leaning his elbows on the upper bench and sitting with his legs wide open. Haru sat up and reknotted his own towel.

“You don’t have to get up,” Rin said, glancing at the hands that held the towel closed.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Haru listened to Rin breathe, how he’d inhale slowly and hold it before releasing all his breath. It was a meditative method, a way of easing the body and calming the mind. When Haru glanced over, Rin’s eyes were closed. He already glistened with sweat, his skin smooth and virginal and unmarked.

When Rin opened his eyes, Haru didn’t look away. “Your merman is awesome.”

Haru lifted his arm slightly, flexing so the tail danced. He watched Rin watching him, catching the small smile when the merman’s tail twitched, awe-struck and childlike. While Rin scaled the length of his arm the sauna’s other occupant slipped out, and Haru was hyperaware of the immensity and the emptiness of the room.

Rin’s hair was damp, the red locks sticking to his forehead and his neck. He pushed it back but it flopped back into place, save that one strand sticking up haphazardly. Haru smiled as he lowered his arm.

“I’ve got an idea,” Rin said, admiring his own naked biceps, “but you’ll think it’s dumb.”

“The shark was dumb,” Haru replied.

“S-Shut up!” He frowned and turned away. Haru took the chance to reknot his towel again—and study Rin. He could only see one side of his back as he pouted, but hadn’t missed the sculpted abs and chest before he’d turned. He was accustomed to admiring the human body as a canvas, tracing its lines and plotting its design. Rin’s body was more than a canvas. It was firm and muscular; it was a body he liked to show off, but also save for intimacy. His body reflected his personality: brash, but also delicate; tight, but quick to melt beneath another’s touch.

Now, he couldn't stop seeing that body as more than a canvas, not when that back was turned toward him, when his towel only covered to mid-thigh. “Tell me,” Haru said, as he stared at the V of his hip that disappeared under the towel.

Rin turned back toward him. “I’m thinkin’, maybe . . . cherry blossoms.” He flexed his arm, running a finger along the edge of his biceps and around the back. “Like, a whole branch.”

Rin lay a hand in his lap but kept the other arm lifted, knowing Haru would study it. He tilted his head, sweeping his gaze up the underside of his arm. His head moved downward to follow the curve of his arm.

“M-Maybe not the whole thing at the same time,” Rin added. “Just a little one up here”—he pointed to his shoulder—“to start, or something.”

Now it was Haru’s turn to breathe deeply, the sauna’s heat warming him from within. He moved Rin’s hand aside to expose his shoulder and Haru traced it with a fingernail, mentally drawing the blossoms. Rin was panting, his chest rapidly rising and falling with each shallow breath. Haru placed a hand on the whole of his shoulder; he could feel the warmth and salt on him, feel the surge that rose to the surface.

Haru nodded. “I’ll sketch it tonight.”

“W-Wha— You like it? Really?”

Rin shivered when Haru’s fingernail cut down his arm, scraping the layer of sweat and leaving a faint white trail that soon vanished. He swept the nail upward, curlicues and small blossoms on his skin that existed for only a moment as they solidified in Haru’s imagination.

“It’s what you want,” Haru said, and Rin grinned as he nodded.

 

* * *

 

The bathwater was cold and cleansing after the humidity of the sauna. Haru had stripped down the moment he stepped foot into the apartment, his clothes a scattered trail to the bathroom. He hadn’t even waited for the tub to fill before sinking into it, his pores still open and accepting to the shocking cold of the filling tub.

Haru hung his legs over the edge of the tub, offering a dry perch for his sketchbook. He flipped past a number of unfinished sketches: one on hold, as the client didn’t have the money yet; one a Samezuka member, who kept changing his mind. Most were waiting for Haru’s text message that announced their completion, but in the bath that night he flipped to a new page and began to sketch Rin’s arm.

He wouldn’t get the full sleeve, not yet. Haru sketched in pink, breaking away from his standard graphite. The pink suited Rin’s skin tone as Haru dotted blossoms on his two-dimensional arm. He filled his shoulder, a faint branch connecting the flowers, with visions of expansion. Haru sketched his neck for the full effect, though he rarely drew outside the tattoo area. He mapped the curve of his head, and the strands of permanently wind-blown hair.

He thought of Rin in the sauna, his shoulders and arms free and his chest gleaming with sweat; he remembered how he breathed, quicker when Haru traced his skin. He drew the expansion of Rin’s first tattoo, trailing down his arm and around to his triceps. He wished he’d grabbed other pencil colors, too, when he'd grabbed the pink from the box.

Haru pulled himself out of the tub, cold and dripping as he hurried to the bedroom. He grabbed the discarded pack of colored pencils from the bed, then sat cross-legged as he colored in the flowers. He colored the vines; he shaded each petal of each cherry blossom. He shaded the blush of Rin’s cheeks, and the hair to match. He dropped the pencils, running a finger from Rin’s temple to his neck, then down the length of his arm. Haru closed his eyes, remembering the way Rin shivered under his imaginary inking, how he’d leaned closer and breathed and smiled when Haru agreed to do it. He lay on his back, the cool air drying his skin and Rin’s sketch lying beside him. He threw a forearm across his eyes, chest heaving like he’d swam the length of an Olympic-sized pool rather than complete a simple sketch.

 

Haru didn’t remember falling asleep, but woke to sunlight filtered through the blinds and colored pencils pressed between his belly and the mattress. When he rolled to his side the pencils rolled with him, massaging his naked skin and poking him with dots of color. Beside him, the sketchbook lay open and Rin smiled in profile.

He sat up on the edge of the bed, rubbing a sore spot in his hip that had been impaled with the purple pencil. He looked down at his body, tracing the lines of the small fish tattoo. He trembled when he stood, stomach growling and head aching like he’d had too much to drink.

 

* * *

 

Haru wasn’t surprised that someone was waiting outside the tattoo parlor when he turned the corner, and was less surprised to see the vibrant red chrome bike and matching leather jacket. Rin straddled the bike, helmet under his arm with the other hand in his pocket, the jacket open and flapping in the slight breeze. Rin would look up at the sliver of sky in the alley, then back to the shop. When he’d turn his head, his smile was visible from Haru’s spot down the block. He smiled like he’d had a good night, or like he hadn’t gone home alone.

Haru clutched the strap of his leather satchel as he approached the parlor.

“Ah!” Rin turned to the sound of his footsteps. “You’re here!”

Nothing Haru wanted to say sounded right, so he remained silent as he unlocked the door. Rin threw a leg over the bike to dismount, and it wasn’t until that moment that Haru realized he’d never seen a Samezuka member’s motorcycle up close. On the lip above the headlight there was an emblem, something strange and triangular with what looked like a . . . sword . . . ? Haru squinted.

“It’s a shark,” Rin said, patting the logo. “Cool, huh?”

Haru nodded. “I see.” When he stepped in the parlor, Rin waited in the dark of the doorway until Haru went around the counter to flip on the lights. Soundscapes of the Sea automatically flowed through the speakers as he set the satchel on the counter. “I have an idea,” he said, pulling the sketchbook from his bag.

“Really?” Rin hurried to the counter. “Already?”

Haru stared at the cover of the sketchbook before opening it, not remembering exactly what his sketch looked like. He didn’t examine it closely that morning before slamming the book closed, not wanting to yet recall the fever of creation. When he opened the book he turned the pages slowly, and Rin leaned over the counter so close that the pages nearly brushed his nose. With unsteady hands Haru turned the final page to Rin’s sketch, and they both audibly gasped.

It was too personal. It was _Rin_ , in profile, not just his decorated arm but the whole of his body. Rin glanced at Haru before he pulled the sketchbook closer, but Haru was no longer looking at it. His face burned; he was dehydrated. He left the portrait on the counter as he hurried to the back for a gallon of water, pulling the first one he saw off the floor rather than cross the break room for the fridge. He tilted the jug back, the water hydrating and soothing and he poured it down his throat.

If Rin disappeared then, he wouldn’t have minded. If he took the sketchbook with him, Haru would be disappointed but not distraught. If he noticed how detailed his “sketch” was compared to the others, it would give away all that Haru had been denying.

But Rin still stood at the counter when Haru returned, hands at his sides like he hadn’t touched the book at all. Haru wiped the back of his hand across his wet lips. “It’s a lot,” he said, steadily approaching the counter. “I got carried away.”

“It’s beautiful.” Rin whispered, like a secret between them. “Haru, this is . . . you could do this.”

He looked down at the counter. “Yes.”

“ _Yeah._ Maybe not all of it right now. Just a little, right?” He pointed to the portrait’s shoulder without touching it, and Haru didn’t have to look to know exactly what he indicated. It was the way Haru had planned it. “Can you do it today?”

Haru shook his head. “I have other customers.” He ignored Rin’s dejection as he reached under the counter for his calendar, relieved that he could push the sketchbook aside to open it up on the counter. Haru flipped through the simple spiral-bound calendar, bypassing the days already filled with people’s names. “Next Tuesday,” he said, pointing the tip of his pen at the empty square.

“Wow.” Rin leaned over to read the schedule upside-down. “You’re popular.”

His hand was warm from the mist of Rin’s breath, and he didn’t pull back. “Do you want it?”

Rin looked one more time at his sketch—the cherry blossoms spiraling down his arms, the vision of a future accepted by the ink. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m gonna do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter is [here](http://letsswimtogethernanase.tumblr.com/post/101187817443) on tumblr.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating delays are entirely the fault of NaNoWriMo, and I'm surprised I squeezed in the time to write this chapter at all. *falls over*
> 
> Special thanks to [my kohai](http://archiveofourown.org/users/karratran) for reminding me I can write at all.

Haru had only ever been nervous when he’d given his first tattoo. He’d practiced for close to a year before putting the needle to human skin. His apartment had been flooded with grapefruits in various stages of inking, abandoned attempts at practicing and coloring. In those days, he began shuffling his feet while walking around the apartment in the case of wayward fruit.

He arrived at the tattoo parlor early that day. The shades remained drawn and the lights off, but Haru knew the layout of the place better than his own apartment. He juggled a grapefruit one-handed, and in the dark it wasn’t obvious that it was outlined with the delicate flowers of a cherry blossom tree.

He sat on his stool behind the counter and waited for his vision to adjust, watching the client’s chair come into view. He noticed the blue vinyl first, bright in the dark, followed by the more concrete outline of the headrest and seat. He rolled the grapefruit between his palms, then rested his lips upon it.

He wasn’t _nervous_. He’d prepared the inks the previous night, had tested the needles for the most accurate design. He set the grapefruit down on his table and transferred himself to the client’s chair, head back against the headrest, staring at the curtain that lined the back wall.

He’d put on a sleeveless shirt that morning, though the weather didn’t call for it. He looked down at his thighs which, he had to admit, were nicely-fitted in his slim jeans. He stared at the grapefruit, picturing its design on the muscular, rounded shoulder of his client instead. In the dark, Haru allowed himself to smile.

He stiffened when the telltale sound of a motorcycle sounded in the distance. He listened to its acceleration, the near-deafening sound in the quiet of the tattoo parlor. It roared as it turned onto the street and then . . . stopped.

Haru looked up at the wall clock. Still fifteen minutes until opening. He considered going into the back room to check the security feed, but it was more interesting to sit in the dark, knowing someone was outside. Knowing who pulled off his helmet, shaking out his red locks, straddling his bike as he looked up at the neon-blue script over the door.

The door to the parlor was a portal into a world of serenity, with walls flowing like water and a man quietly poised. It was a place people came to help identify themselves, to be permanently marked with their spirit animals or Chinese characters or a lover’s name. And Haru helped to define them, leaving his marks on their skin, understanding how badly they all needed to express themselves.

Haru stood and flipped on the lights. The walls of the parlor came alive, like they flowed and moved as Haru moved. He unlocked the bolt on the door and took in a breath before opening it.

“You’re early,” Haru said, standing in the doorway. He stared at Rin’s face but remembered at that moment how he’d looked in the sauna, that virgin skin beneath his red leather jacket.

Rin still sat on his motorcycle, helmet tucked under his arm. He grinned. “Didn’t want to be late.” Haru still wondered how he could comfortably ride in tight leather pants.

“Come in.” He turned around. “Almost ready.”

Rin trotted after him, bouncing childlike into the parlor. He rested his helmet on the counter and then leaned on it, watching as Haru busied himself. Haru was ready, in the fact he had all his tattooing gear out. But his furious pulse had only accelerated from the moment he was forced to turn on the lights.

“Should I sit?” Rin asked, craning his neck to see around the curtain.

“Go ahead.” In the seconds it took Rin to come around the counter, Haru pushed the practice grapefruit into the trash can. It landed with a _thud_ in the empty bin. “And take off your shirt,” he added.

Haru listened to the jacket slowly unzip. “Getting down to business,” Rin said.

“Hang your things on the hook,” he replied, ignoring him, pointing to an empty coat rack in the corner of the work area. He hadn’t yet turned from his work table, rearranging things and looking busy so he didn’t have to face his client. Not yet.

But he heard the slow wheeze of blue vinyl, the familiar sound of a client’s settling weight and the shifting in the seat. “Get comfortable,” Haru said, somewhat needlessly, as Rin continued to fidget, the vinyl squeaking as he shimmied around the cushion. He didn’t turn around until Rin had finally stopped moving.

“Like I’m getting a massage,” Rin said, stretching his arms out to the sides. “Except painful.”

“It won’t hurt.” Haru went through the motions automatically, from pulling on the white gloves to sanitizing Rin’s shoulder, using disposable alcohol wipes to clean the skin. The steps helped Haru to focus and to calm the client, in most cases, but already Rin was gripping the arms of the chair and sitting too stiffly for Haru to concentrate.

“Take a tennis ball,” he said, motioning to a box beneath the chair.

“What for?”

Haru patted down Rin’s shoulder with a clean cloth. “Just hold it.”

But the moment the tennis ball was wrapped it Rin’s grip, he understood. He’d stopped clutching the chair and channeled his tension into the ball instead, squeezing until it was no longer a perfect sphere. Haru explained the process as he went along, from cleaning and shaving Rin’s skin to applying the transfer that would show the tattoo’s outline. Haru sat on his stood with spread knees, feet planted on the floor to steady himself, the wheels' locking mechanism turned on so he didn’t roll away haphazardly. Gooseflesh sprang up on Rin’s naked shoulder when Haru applied the transfer, then smoothed it down with a wet rag.

Haru was beginning to believe that the back of Rin’s neck always looked tense, that the veins were permanently exposed and pulsing on the tanned skin. But when the dampened rag touched him, the veins subsided. His head tilted down into the headrest and his breathing steadied. Haru slowly peeled off the transfer paper, leaving the blue-black outline of a future tattoo.

“Look at it when you’re ready,” Haru said, sitting back on his stool.

Rin didn’t move at first, idly holding the tennis ball in one hand without squeezing it. Like he’d already forgotten it was there. When he sat up his back muscles contracted, like water under his skin. He seemed to ignore Haru’s persistent staring as he walked to the back of the room, slowly, squaring his shoulders before the mirror.

“Wow.”

It was just a transfer. A child’s tattoo; a temporary design that would rub off with alcohol and a long, hot shower. But Rin turned to the side, staring at the cherry blossoms that wound around his shoulder and spread to the top of his biceps. The branch stretched to the back, too, bordering his shoulder blade.

“It’s perfect.” When he turned back to Haru, the artist only sat on his stool, feet planted on the floor, white-gloved hands dangling between his open legs.

Haru nodded to the client’s chair. “Sit.” He watched Rin's every step back to the chair, and then waited for his client to get comfortable again. He told himself that he waited for the veins to subside in his neck again, waited for his grip to ease on the poor, abused tennis ball. Haru stared at the transferred lines, visually tracing where the needle would soon go.

“Haru?” Rin spoke to the floor through the hole in the headrest. “Everything okay?”

He’d put a hand to the worktable, reaching for a tattoo machine, but that was as far as he’d gone. Haru still stared at Rin’s back, at the forced attempt at relaxation despite his nerves. “Getting ready,” Haru replied, sweating under the heat of the overhead light. When he picked up the machine he had to put it back down, his hands visibly shaking and damp with sweat inside the gloves. “Don’t be nervous,” he said aloud.

“I’m fine,” Rin replied, wholly unconvincing.

Haru wiped his palms on his thighs. “Want to talk?”

Rin sat up too eagerly, turning only his head to Haru as he straddled the seat. It was good to see him smile, even if it was strained. “Sousuke said you’re not much of a talker.”

Haru scowled as he looked at his feet. “You look like you want to talk.”

Rin leaned a forearm on the headrest, twisting his torso to better face him. “I’d be here all day just talkin’. I’d go broke.”

Haru allowed a small smile to spread across his lips. “I don’t charge by the hour.”

When Rin lifted his head the skin of his neck was stretched taut, staring at the ceiling like there was anything to look at. He looked down at his shoulder instead, which shone with ointment that was beginning to dry. “Tell me about the merman.”

The merman twitched in response and Haru stared at the exposed arm, rotating it slightly so the tail danced. He touched the shell of his ear, running a thumb along the industrial that connected either end. It had been a good number of years since he’d dropped _that_ nervous tic. “My best friend says I was a merman in a past life.”

Rin smirked. “Swimmer?”

Haru made an elaborate show of looking around the tattoo parlor, at the blue waves painted across the walls and the counter. He grasped his arm, one hand across the merman’s torso.

“Guess that’s obvious,” Rin said with a chuckle. “How’d you get into this, then?”

He didn’t reply right away. Rin was supposed to _talk_ , not _ask_ ; he never discussed personal matters with clients, intent to only do the job. He simply replied, “I like to draw.”

“All right, all right.” Rin held his hands up in defense. “No more personal questions.”

Haru surprised himself by asking, “What do you do?”

“Besides being part of a wicked bike gang?” He flashed a smile when Haru rolled his eyes. “You’re gonna think I’m makin’ this up—but I’m a swim coach. Most of Samezuka are swimmers. Maybe that’s why we like you, huh?”

Haru spun his stool around to the worktable. He peeled off his gloves, the sweat pooling in the fingertips, to toss them into the trash. He wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans before snapping on a new pair of gloves. “Ready?”

Rin began to squeeze the tennis ball again, not out of nerves but to prepare himself for the forthcoming pain. Haru watched him as he flipped on the machine, but Rin didn’t react to the low metallic whirr. He pulled his stool closer, locking the wheels again, and set the needle to Rin’s skin.

“Shit!” Rin audibly gritted his teeth. “You said it wouldn’t hurt!”

“Breathe,” Haru replied. “You’ll get used to it.”

Rin breathed slowly as commanded, his back expanding with each inhalation. It didn’t affect Haru at all; he traced along the transfer and felt the heat off Rin’s body through the latex gloves. He still gripped the tennis ball even when his breathing steadied, and began tapping his heels on the hardwood floor to a silent tune. Haru realized then that he hadn’t put on Soundscapes of the Sea, the parlor silent besides the buzz of the needle and Rin’s occasional grunt of pain.

He worked slower than usual, tracing each curve of the branches and the faint outline of the flowers. He rested one hand between Rin’s shoulder blades, consciously ignoring how firm the muscles were that twitched in discomfort.

He glided the needle down and around his shoulder, the lines and spirals blending together to form recognizable shapes. When Rin slightly turned his head, Haru cupped the crown and gently pushed him back down. He felt the silent vibration of Rin’s laughter.

Haru’s knee pressed to the side of the client’s chair. He could feel the blue vinyl through his jeans, and he felt the vertebrae of Rin’s spine beneath the forearm that now lay down his back. Haru tilted closer to his work, and it wasn’t until Rin relaxed that he realized the hand not working the machine had been stroking his back.

“No wonder the guys like it here,” Rin mumbled. He dropped the tennis ball and it rolled out of sight beneath the curtain.

“Tell me about your job,” Haru said.

It didn’t take a former swimmer to understand what Rin’s job entailed. But it kept him talking, and Haru learned more about the Sano Swim Club than he’d ever wanted to know. He didn’t mention that he’s swam at Sano when he was a kid, likely at the same time that Rin himself had been a member. He wondered if they’d ever raced against each other.

“You seem like a freestyle guy to me,” Rin said.

Haru stared at his skin, the needle forming one smooth line down his biceps. “Yes.”

“Me too.” He couldn’t see Rin’s face, but recognized the shift of his cheek that meant he smiled. “Well, I’ve gotta know everything to teach. But there’s something about free that makes you feel . . .”

“Free,” Haru finished.

The tattoo parlor was eerily silent when he flipped off the machine, hearing only the sound of their breathing in lieu of the comforting electric whine. Rin lifted his head slightly, as if testing whether Haru would allow it, and then sat up, looking to his shoulder before acknowledging the artist.

Only his neck moved, twisting in slow motion to stare down at his arm. There were a few different reactions to the first ink—excitement, awe, disbelief. Rin exhibited all three, his eyes glowing and his mouth hanging open.

“You survived,” Haru said. He stood, turning to the worktable to clean out the needle. “We’ll schedule an appointment to come back for color.”

“You . . . can’t do it now?”

It _was_ like the first time he gave a tattoo, all over again. How his hands shook as set down the machine, peeling off the white gloves so his hands could breathe. How he took deep breaths, hesitating before turning back to the client and facing the work he’d etched on someone else’s skin.

“Another client,” he said, blinking at the wall clock. “Took longer than I thought.” Stringing together a complete sentence was a foreign concept, his brain working around fragments before he sputtered them out nonsensically. “Sit,” he commanded, though Rin hadn’t gotten up. He grabbed a washcloth from a bottom shelf of his worktable. “I’ll clean it.”

He escaped to the backroom to run the washcloth under hot water, wringing it out and rinsing it over and over. The water was scalding and welcomed on his hands, thawing the knots and crimping from his fingers. He was vaguely aware of a shadow over the open doorway, unsurprised when Rin leaned his uninked shoulder on the doorframe. He was still shirtless and his leather pants sat below his hipbones, revealing a slight tan line where the edge of a swimsuit would hug his skin.

Haru twisted the washcloth to wring it out again, and couldn’t be bothered reprimanding Rin for following him. Instead he stood beside his client, filling the doorway with them both, and applied the hot washcloth to the newly-inked skin.

“Damn.” Rin tilted his head back. “That feels good.”

The washcloth was already cold and Haru turned back to the sink, rinsing and wringing it again. He stared at Rin’s shoulder as he applied the cloth again, pressing it to his shoulder and his back, reveling in each of Rin’s small moans. Rin’s hair was long, he noticed now that he was standing, the ends tickling his nose as he stood too close. Haru tossed the washcloth in an empty laundry bin and stared at the tattoo’s outline, wishing now that he could continue it, that the next client wouldn’t be showing up sometime in the next fifteen minutes.

“I’m glad I came here,” Rin said. His voice was too soft, standing so close, his head turned to Haru so the words were hot on his lowered head. Haru’s eyes wandered to his chest, to the dip between his pecs and, farther down, each valley carved into his abs. Haru had shaved the area to be tattooed earlier, not realizing there wasn’t any hair on him at all.

“Keep it covered tonight,” Haru said, pushing past him and back into the parlor.

 

* * *

 

Haru feared that he wouldn’t be able to sleep that night, but to confirm it by lying awake and staring at the ceiling was worse.

He’d gotten through his next client just fine. Line work, color, payment, out the door. It was hardly a distraction from the man who’d previously occupied that chair, who’d strode around behind the counter too casually in his leather pants and no shirt.

Haru listened to the passing traffic, which was only cars at that hour. He’d grown used to the accelerating roar of a motorcycle, wildly out of place against the backdrop of Soundscapes of the Sea. After Rin had left he’d put the music on, a welcomed distraction to the heavy silence.

Haru was warm but refused to sleep without a blanket, opting to remove his sleepwear instead. But even his boxers felt constricting, his ass sweating beneath the thin layer of fabric. He propped his hands behind his head and sighed, watching a long strip of white headlight stretch across the ceiling and then disappear.

Human skin was a canvas. It was a blank slate for him to draw on, not dissimilar to paper and watercolor. Or pavement and chalk. It was appealing for its permanence, a kind of possession on someone else’s body, his way of claiming another as his own.

Haru closed his eyes, but not in sleep. He touched his belly, splaying his fingers out downward, one finger touching the elastic of his boxers. He’d come home and soaked in a cold bath but still sweated beneath the sheets, his heart rate spiked and refusing to settle so he could actually go to sleep.

Two fingers were on his boxers now, slowly tracing the hills and valleys of the elastic sewn into the material. He was ignoring the rising heat in his groin, not that it helped. He gritted his teeth, closing his eyes as he lightly snapped the elastic.

Haru shook his head. It was _professional_ ; he was a _client_ , someone who might pass his name along when boasting of his new ink and forget him entirely in a few years. The client was a motorcyclist, part of a registered motorcycle group.

He’d asked about Haru’s merman, and it struck him suddenly that he’d provided the wrong answer.

 _My best friend says I was a merman in a past life_.

Sousuke flashed in his mind. _You know, most guys get mermaids._

Haru lifted his arm to stare at the sleeve, the beautifully-sculptured mythical creature that had been his companion for several years. He liked to twist his arm to watch it dance, flexing his biceps to mimic its swimming.

Rin always smiled at him. It wasn’t natural to smile that much, but—

He frowned when his phone distantly jingled. It was just after eleven o’clock but the oddity of the hour struck him, like it would be a parent informing him of impending disaster or a friend having an emotional crisis. It didn’t jingle again, so neither option was likely, but it wasn’t like Haru had anything better to do—he slid out of bed and into the kitchen, where his cell phone was charging on the countertop.

He didn’t have all his clients in his contacts, but he didn’t have to know the name to understand its origin. _Didn’t thank you today. I know it’s just the lines but I love it. can’t wait for the color._

Then, another message did follow: _this is rin dunno if you have my #._

Haru committed the number to memory. He slid open the keypad, pressing hard on each number, waiting too long to punch in the final one that would dial Rin’s phone. He gripped the countertop as he pressed the phone to his ear, hoping both that he’d pick up and that he’d ignore the call completely.

“Hope I didn’t wake you,” Rin said, without saying hello.

“No,” Haru replied. He stared out the kitchen window at the street below, watching pedestrians cross through the circles of lamppost light and then disappear into darkness again. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Rin laughed low. “Yeah, me too.”

The edges of Haru’s phone dug into his palm, holding it too tight in fear it would slip from his sweating palms. “Want to finish it now?”

“Now?” Something crashed on Rin’s side of the call, like a book to the floor. “You don’t have to—”

“If you want,” Haru interrupted.

 

* * *

 

Rin got there before he did, but only because he had a mode of transportation. Haru always walked to the tattoo parlor, enjoying the commute after staying idle so long during the day. Rin straddled his bike, like he had only that afternoon, waiting for Haru yet again. Haru nodded to him as he unlocked the door, expecting him to follow.

As he did. Haru locked the door behind them.

“Brought some music,” Rin said, pulling a CD from his jacket pocket. It was no Soundscapes, judging by the cover art alone. “Y’know, in case you’re falling asleep or something. Didn’t think that ocean music would work.”

“I won’t fall asleep,” Haru replied, but accepted the CD regardless. He’d turned on only the rear lights, leaving the entrance in darkness but the work area illuminated. Rin went around behind the curtain as Haru fiddled with the CD player. He couldn’t remember the last time Soundscapes hadn’t been the disk in the player.

He lowered the volume before the music came on, for which he was grateful when it came blasting through the surround-sound. It was synthetic-sounding with a low, thumping bass line, but not entirely unpleasant. Haru stared at the speakers, vaguely wondering if the bass would rattle them off their tiny shelves in the corners. When nothing happened, he joined Rin behind the counter.

He was already sitting in the client’s chair, jacket and shirt removed, staring at the black curtain in front of him. His budding tattoo was still covered, as instructed, and he watched as Haru stood beside him to unveil the outlines again.

“You come in here at night a lot?” Rin asked, as Haru wiped down the area with an alcohol wipe.

It seemed pointless to lie. “No.”

The required inks were already out, so preparing the machine was easy. Rin watched this time, and Haru sat back a little in the stool so he could. He’s already grabbed a tennis ball and was tossing it back and forth, the ball making a slow arc between his hands. When Haru raised the tattoo machine in one white-gloved hand, Rin spun around and fit his face into the headrest. He hummed along to the music, sitting stone-still as the needle was put to his skin again, tensing only briefly before relaxing again under Haru’s touch.

“You think you could”—Rin paused—“stroke my back, like you did before?”

“Sorry about that,” Haru replied, coloring in the dark pink center of a cherry blossom.

“Don’t be sorry.” Rin’s voice was soft, his back heaving again with deliberate breaths. “It was . . . nice. It helped.”

He colored the centers of each blossom, the darkest colors first to work his way out. Stray petals decorated his skin, too, and Haru checked several times to ensure he got them all. Meanwhile his other hand was back against Rin’s spine, automatically massaging his skin and slowly working up to his neck. He didn’t think about it, even when he sat back and removed the machine from Rin’s skin. The pink hadn’t taken long at all. “I’m changing colors,” he announced, rubbing between Rin’s shoulder blades before turning to bleed the ink out of his machine.

It required only two colors, an easy job, but Haru was overcautious as he prepared the white ink. He’d nearly forgotten about the dubstep filling his parlor until the machine was off, and then Rin was tossing the tennis ball back and forth again to the beat of the music.

“How are you feeling?” Haru asked.

“I’m good.” Rin gripped the tennis ball in one hand. “Let’s get this done.” He didn’t even react when the needle was set to his skin again.

White ink would line the edges of the blossoms, a subtle gradient from each flower’s deep pink center. Haru worked slowly, getting lost in Rin’s strange music and the feel of taut skin beneath the needle.

Rin was no mere canvas; he was not a blank slate. His body was a work of art, the hard muscles roped beneath his skin. Haru’s tattoo machine moved like it was automatic, a design he’d never tattooed on skin already embedded in its memory. He jumped from blossom to blossom, improving upon a body that needed no improvement. Haru was semi-aware of massaging the nape of Rin’s neck, the duel action like a pianist playing two melodies at once.

He didn’t want to admit when the coloring was complete. Haru waited several long moments before finally turning off the machine, lying it on the table while he continued to massage Rin’s back. The tattoo would need ointment—and it would need to be covered again—but for the next few minutes Haru’s hand worked up and down Rin’s back, massaging up his neck and into the base of his skull. Rin let out of soft moan, gripping the tennis ball as he lowered his head farther, exposing the broad expanse of his neck to his tattoo artist.

Rin didn’t move when Haru stepped away, gathering the same warm washcloth and ointment procedure of that afternoon. Rin sat quietly as Haru worked, not even lifting his head. His breathing had steadied, Haru could see now, and the CD had switched to another similar-sounding song with a dropping bass line, and it wasn’t until Haru affixed the last piece of tape around the dressing that Rin sit up.

“You should keep it on until morning,” Haru said, as Rin sat sideways on the chair. Haru handed him after-care instructions and a sample bottle of ointment, lecturing Rin on immediate care like he was a normal client, like they weren’t sitting in the tattoo parlor long after either of them would ordinarily be asleep. “If you have problems,” Haru continued, “tell me.”

“I have your number,” Rin replied with a grin.

It was too quiet when Haru turned off the music, carefully pushing the CD back into its jewel case. Rin had taken a painstakingly long time getting dressed again, which Haru found strangely endearing.

It was cool outside, and darker than they were accustomed to. Rin mounted the motorcycle as Haru locked up, listening to the distinct _thud_ of the deadbolt clicking into place. “Hey,” Rin said, holding his helmet in both hands. “You— You want a ride? You walked over, right?”

Haru looked the bike over. It was big, fairly sturdy, and had a seat that two people could maybe squeeze onto. He stared at the headlight, which Rin hadn’t put on yet, and the Samezuka logo that was etched above it.

“I don’t have a helmet,” he said lamely.

“Here.” Rin held out his. “Wear mine. I’ll be safe, I promise.”

He wanted to argue—riding without a helmet was stupid—but Haru found himself reaching for the helmet, studying its interior like he wasn’t sure how to put it on. A few strands of bright red hair were stuck inside, and it smelled faintly sweet. Shampoo? _Cherry blossom_ shampoo? Haru wouldn’t doubt it.

“It’s only three blocks,” Haru said, which could either be a refusal or an agreement.

“And the sooner you get home, the sooner you can sleep.”

Haru fitted the helmet over his head, and Rin grasped it by both sides to straighten it. His vision was obscured by the tinted visor, and his head felt unnaturally heavy. Rin scooted up, patting the seat behind him, and it took Haru two tries to throw his leg over the massive machine.

“Ever rode before?” Rin asked. When Haru shook his head, he accidentally knocked the helmet into the back of Rin’s head. But he only laughed, reaching behind him for both Haru’s hands to pull them around his middle. “Hold on tight.”

The red leather jacket was fitted and Haru could feel his abs beneath it, clutching his torso for dear life as he revved the engine. He clamped his thighs around the bike, his arms around Rin, and forced his eyes wide open when the bike pealed onto the road.

He could hardly see over Rin’s shoulder—he was only slightly taller than Haru was, but the helmet sat too low over his eyes. But he _felt_ it, he felt the chill of the air through the cords of his jeans, the wind flapping his T-shirt. He understood why Samezuka wore leather; his skin was freezing before they rounded the first block. Haru shouted directions, which Rin somehow heard over the engine and the constant rush of the wind. The streetlights whizzed past, a white blur overhead, and the stars disappeared as Rin gained speed.

Haru lifted his head, shifting so he didn’t press to Rin’s new ink. He gripped around his waist tighter, silently fearing he’d fall off, and Rin laughed like he understood the sudden vice around his body. They didn’t go too fast, but it was still too soon before he pulled up to Haru’s apartment complex.

He staggered slightly getting off the bike, and Rin grasped his arm to help steady him. “Thanks.” Haru pulled off the helmet and shook out his hair. He stood close to the still-warm bike, close enough that he could’ve put Rin’s helmet on himself. Instead, he pressed it into Rin’s outstretched hand.

“Next time I’ll bring a spare,” Rin said, holding up the helmet.

“Yeah.” Haru answered before considering what that implied.

Rin’s hand was still on his arm, wrapped around the merman’s tail. He didn’t put the helmet on yet but looked at Haru, his small smile illuminated by the dim streetlight. They weren’t directly beneath it, but it offered enough light that Haru felt exposed without the familiarity of his counter and worktable.

“You do a good job,” Rin said, slightly twitching the newly-inked arm.

Haru looked at the arm, as if he could see the tattoo. “Thank you.”

He didn’t stop Rin from leaning forward. He didn’t prevent his hand from sliding down, squeezing his fingers between Haru’s to hold his hand. Haru only closed his eyes and tilted his head, subconsciously providing Rin a place to rest his lips. The kiss to his cheek was slow, its warmth shooting through his veins.

When Rin released his hand Haru took the opportunity to grab his arm, startling them both, gripping to him like his clients gripped to the tennis ball. Haru knitted his brows as he, too, leaned in, meeting Rin halfway, his lips trembling as they landed full and hot on Rin’s.

He felt Rin’s pulse through his fingers; he breathed slowly through his nose as Rin parted his lips. He let out a small moan of surprise as Haru’s tongue probed them open farther, as they tilted their heads in sync to lock together. And they were kissing, Rin straddling his bike, Haru holding his arm just below the bandage. He was kissing Rin outside his apartment, following the heat of a late-night tattoo session. And then Haru’s arm moved to around his waist, holding tight like he was still riding the streets on the back of his motorcycle.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (chapter is [here](http://letsswimtogethernanase.tumblr.com/post/102931927193) on tumblr.)


	5. Chapter 5

Haru’s apartment came with a designated parking space, which had remained empty since the day he’d moved in. He had no use for a car; he hated to drive. There was a partial view of the resident’s lot from his small bathroom window and, when he was up in the middle of the night, he peered out to confirm the motorcycle was still there.

Rin had been too tired to ride home, he’d told himself. Rin had followed closely as they’d climbed the stairs, and had watched Haru unlock the door. There was a theme now to Rin watching Haru unlock doors, of which he couldn’t determine the meaning. He turned from the bathroom window to wash his hands, lathering the soap between his small, pale hands until it foamed over. He glanced at the tub, which held the residue of water around the drain from a recent bath. It smelled of his soap on a stranger’s skin.

Haru yawned and scratched his stomach as he returned to the bedroom. He pulled up his shorts, which had slipped down his hips, and retied the knot that kept them in place. He stood leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, staring at Rin’s sprawled figure on his bed.

He didn’t know what a post-sex haze felt like but thought this was similar, still feeling the imprint of lips and hands on his skin. He touched his tattoo, which had garnered plenty of its own attention before they’d fallen asleep. Rin had been super-careful about his dressing, keeping his arm immobile as they’d kissed, and then sleeping on his side so he didn’t crush it.

At some point Rin had flopped to his stomach and he lightly snored, arms spread wide in the absence of Haru. Haru had thrown back the blanket when he got up to use the bathroom, momentarily forgetting that someone else was using it, but it meant that he could now watch Rin breathe. The dressing peeked out from the edge of the blanket, and farther down he knew that his own pants rested low on Rin’s hips. His memory of letting him borrow them was hazy with the hangover of entwined bodies.

Haru silently crossed the bedroom, crouching beside the bed to watch Rin at eye-level. His hair was a tangled mess, his lips pink and turned into a small smile. One arm was stretched across the empty side of the bed, and Haru crawled a hand across the sheets to meet it. His hand was warm, smooth like those of a younger man.

Rin awoke like a sleepy child, slowly blinking into focus, unsurprised that he looked into someone else’s face. If he smiled in his sleep, now he smiled wider. “Hey.” He gently pulled Haru’s hand toward him to kiss his fingers.

“Want to take off the dressing?”

“Really?” Rin moved in slow motion, looking at the white covering taped to his arm. “I can?”

“You only have to keep it on a few hours.”

Rin followed to the bathroom and obediently sat on the edge of the tub, watching. Haru straddled the tub beside him, gently peeling off the tape until the cherry blossoms burst forth. The skin was still red and tender but Haru washed it carefully, blotting it with a soapy washcloth before spraying it down with a slow trickle from the showerhead. He held Rin’s elbow, guiding his arm over the tub so the water didn’t leak all over the floor. Rin looked away as the blood-tinged water swirled down into the drain.

“I’m not like this,” Haru said, as he squeezed a drop of ointment onto his palm.

Rin waited until he began spreading the ointment over his tattoo. “Like what?”

“I don’t bring clients home with me.”

The cherry blossoms were shiny with ointment, the pinks vibrant against his flushed skin. Rin rotated his arm to get a better look at it. “I didn’t think you did.” His movements were careful, like he feared to move his arm, but slowly lifted his hand to cup Haru’s cheek and press a kiss upon it. Haru closed his eyes, instinctively sliding closer, Rin’s thigh between his legs as they kissed again.

The sun hadn’t begun to rise yet, which Haru found impossible. The night felt endless, kissing Rin, like the previous day was of a former lifetime and the next would never come. He didn’t mind, sitting on his tub with Rin’s hands on his body, with his lips moving down to his neck.

Haru tilted his head back with a silent gasp, pushing closer to Rin, one foot sliding on the slick floor of the tub. Rin kissed his shoulder and down his biceps, down the length of the merman to the crook of his elbow. Haru extended his arm for Rin to kiss down the underside, to his wrist, kissing each finger before teasing the pinky with his tongue.

Rin’s hair was soft between his fingers, slightly matted with sweat and the weight of a motorcycle helmet. He groaned, pressing the top of his head into Haru’s chest, looking down at the open hinge of his crotch.

“I want you to ride with me.” Rin spoke between kisses, dragging his lips back up Haru’s chest. “I want you on my bike and I just want to _go_ , go anywhere.” He kissed the underside of his chin. “’S long as you’re with me.”

Haru draped a leg across Rin’s lap. “I don’t have a helmet.”

Rin laughed as their lips touched, the vibration melting his core. “You’re always saying stuff like that.” Haru’s teeth grazed Rin’s lower lip, which silenced him.

Their kisses were slow and lazy, exhaustion taking over despite their automatic movements. Their lips were desperately joined as they walked back to bed, as they tumbled into it, as Haru rolled beneath him so Rin would stop worrying about his tattoo. He caught the cherry blossoms in slit-eyed glances as they kissed, the white-and-pink flowers vibrant in the moonlight.

“You’re beautiful,” Rin murmured, straddling Haru’s hips. Haru held around his waist, urging him down, his chest warm as Rin rolled down on top of him. “I’m so lucky.” His words were laced with exhaustion, deep and breathy. “This isn’t real.”

Haru glided his hands down farther, catching on the elastic of his borrowed pants, then squeezed his ass as proof that it was.

 

* * *

 

Haru was beat.

He’d rescheduled his standing appointments, claiming he didn’t feel well, which was a partial truth. But he was still behind the counter at the tattoo parlor, alternating between sitting on the stool and standing up to keep himself awake. He’d mopped the floor, rearranged his work table, and acknowledged the prospective customers that came in. He forced conversation with some and offered business cards to others, keeping an impassive face in a desperate attempt to prove he wasn’t half-asleep.

Rin had left his CD on the counter the night before, and Haru put it back into the player. It wasn’t the type of music suited for mid-afternoon, but it kept him awake. He recalled some of the songs like they were associated with a distant memory or a dream.

Haru was sitting on the stool, one leg folded beneath him as he ate a late lunch, when the door opened. He’d been expecting a biker to come through the door—not that he’d admit to wishing for one in particular—but hadn’t expected Sousuke.

“Funny thing happened yesterday,” he said, without saying hello. “See, when I saw Rin after his appointment, he had this really nice outline.”

Haru poked his mackerel with his chopsticks. “You know the dressing shouldn’t come off.”

Sousuke ignored him. “So imagine my surprise when he left in the middle of the night”—he paused as Haru chewed his fish—“and came home _this morning_ with the thing done.”

He paused mid-chew. “You live together?”

“Oh, no.” Sousuke rested one elbow on the counter, but Haru had already leaned over his bento again. “You’ve got it as bad as he does.” Haru silently mixed pieces of fish in with his rice as Sousuke added, “Roommates. Best friends since we were kids. You know how that works, yes?”

Haru’s eye twitched. “Yes.”

“Well.” Sousuke stretched his arms behind him, then sauntered toward the door. “Just thought I’d stop by. It looks great, of course. Guess he got a personal touch.”

“You can leave now.”

But he paused when he reached the door, inclining his head to a speaker rattling in the corner. Haru sighed around a mouthful of fish, but before Sousuke could comment there was the distinct rumble of a motorcycle turning onto the street. Haru was ravenously hungry but his stomach twisted into itself, his mackerel and rice suddenly unappealing as the door swung open and Rin stepped through.

“Ah!” He looked up at the speakers. “I _knew_ I left that here!”

His jacket was slung over his shoulder, hung on a crooked finger. The black sleeveless shirt was too snug on him—Haru openly stared at his chest—meaning he hadn’t bothered changing out of his borrowed clothes.

“You comin’ tonight?” Sousuke asked Rin.

He grinned. “You bet.”

Sousuke evidently had no purpose for stopping in other than to taunt him, so Haru wasn’t disappointed to see him leave. Rin stepped farther into the parlor when the door closed, setting his helmet down and then leaning across the counter. “Hey.”

Haru blinked at him. “How are you feeling?”

“Great!” Rin held the arm up, displaying the winding cherry blossoms on his shoulder. “My sister made fun of me, but then she said it was ‘typical.’”

“You have a sister?”

“Yeah.” Rin leaned on the counter again. “Maybe I’ll let you meet her sometime. Might be nice to have a guy friend who won’t hit on her.”

Haru raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I will.”

Rin sidestepped toward the swinging door, the one leading behind the counter. Haru didn’t stop him, merely watching as he slid over and took one large step to cross over into the back of the parlor. “You don’t have an appointment,” Haru said, rising from the stool. He zeroed in on his pecs again, deciding to just let him keep the shirt because he’d already stretched it out.

Rin was a couple inches taller, Haru noticed, now that they stood face to face. He disliked having to lift his head, even a little. “So I’m not allowed back here?” he asked.

Only Haru’s eyes moved as he scanned Rin’s body. “No.”

Rin’s hand was on the small of his back then, urging him closer, pulling until they felt the beat of the other’s heart. Haru still refused to lift his head, only rolling his eyes up to take in the crafty smirk and the glitter of his eyes. But then he looked away, squeezing out of Rin’s embrace to sit back down. But Rin wasn’t deterred, leaning back against the counter and propping up his elbows. He flexed his biceps a little, which fluttered the cherry blossoms—as Haru had designed it.

Haru took up his bento again. “You’re going out tonight?” he asked, finding it difficult to keep his voice even.

“Samezuka has a poker run tonight. It’s gonna be fun. Hey!” He stood up straight, which forced Haru to look up again to meet his face. “You should come!”

Haru frowned. “I don’t ride.”

Rin flopped back against the counter. “Oh yeah. Well, I’ll tell you our stops, and maybe you’ll happen to be at one of them? Maybe?”

The front door swung open and Haru tucked his bento beneath the counter, out of sight. He turned away from Rin, but that did little to hide his smile. “Maybe.”

Rin leaned back farther when a girl approached the counter. Haru wanted to kick him away—literally—but he was standing too far, and Haru couldn’t be bothered to get off his stool. The girl wanted information; she wanted to see samples. “Here,” Haru said, pushing the binder closer to her, and them she looked over at Rin as if noticing him for the first time. She glanced at his tattoo, and they shared a smile before she started to flip through binder.

Rin was just standing there, watching. Haru scowled, hoping he’d get the hint and move without being asked. At least he wasn’t staring at the girl anymore, but it didn’t help that he kept staring at Haru. He’d normally wander around behind the counter as people checked his portfolio, but instead Haru sat up straighter. One foot balanced on a rung of the stool, the other flat on the floor, and he _felt_ rather than saw the way Rin’s gaze crawled up to his thigh.

The girl thanked him, promising to return as she waved and headed for the door. Haru simply nodded, waiting until the door shut firmly behind her before turning to Rin.

Rin automatically stood up straight. “What?”

“You’re distracting my customers.”

“ _Sor_ ry. You should’ve said something!”

Haru looked away, staring at the binder that was opened to a dolphin he’d inked on someone’s hip. It was small but detailed, and kind of cute. When Rin took a step closer to him again, Haru reached out to wrap an arm around his waist.

Rin smelled the same, despite wearing Haru’s clothes, a little flowery underneath the crisp scent of the wind. Haru breathed in, burying his face in Rin’s chest, pulling him closer between his legs as Rin returned the embrace.

Rin leaned over, ruffling Haru’s hair with his breath. “That wasn’t a one-time thing, right?” The words were _pleading_ , caught in his throat all day before he forced them out. Haru slowly lifted his head, watching his own hand move up to Rin’s jaw. Rin closed his eyes, leaning into that hand, then grasped it to kiss his palm. His lips burned, passing fire into Haru’s veins.

“Where should I eat tonight?” Haru asked, and Rin smiled against his hand.

 

* * *

 

Haru wasn’t sure what he’d expected—he didn’t know most of the places on the poker run, and those he recognized were bars. But even if the last stop had been the seediest bar in Iwatobi, he was set on bumping into Samezuka when their night was winding down.

The restaurant was nice, though. There was a big seating area outside, and Haru took the farthest table from the parking lot. It was a cool night but he still wore his sleeveless shirt, as if the Samezuka Club wouldn’t recognize him otherwise. His foot bumped the new motorcycle helmet under his seat, shiny and scuff-free, fresh off the shelves only hours prior. He ordered the seared tuna for himself—the only fish on the menu—and was waiting for his dinner as the motorcycles roared in the distance.

The other patrons looks around, craning their necks to check the parking lot, curious whether the club was going to stop there. It was a popular spot for bikers, Haru had learned, with its expansive outdoor seating area and adequate parking. Seijuro appeared first, his bulky build obvious despite the club's anonymity of leather jackets and helmets.

They didn’t spot Haru, so he watched.

Someone came out of the restaurant—the manager, or at least a waitress—and handed them each a playing card. Every member of the club pulled other cards out of their pockets and fanned them out, like they were in the middle of a poker game. Haru smiled when he finally found Rin in the mass. His tongue was poking out the side of his lips in concentration, and he rearranged his hand and rearranged it again. Then someone laughed—Haru thought it was Kazuki—and yelled about his royal flush. Everyone else groaned.

Appetizers and beers were ordered, and they weren’t paying attention to anyone else at the restaurant, even though the other customers all watched them. Haru took out his phone to send a text.

_Come eat with me._

Rin’s head popped up, looking frantically around the backyard. Aiichiro was talking beside him, but when Rin replied they both started to look around. And then, Rin smiled. No one followed as he crossed the lawn, and no one called after him. He was still grinning when he approached, even as he slammed his cards down on the table.

“Royal flush!” He flopped into the plastic chair. “No one’s gonna care about my pair of twos.”

Haru turned the cards over. There was no possible way Rin would’ve won anything. “Have you ever won?” he asked.

“Nah. Good thing we don’t bet much.” Rin pushed the cards to the center of the table. “What’s for dinner?”

“I ordered you steak.”

Rin’s eyes widened. “You ordered for me?”

Haru shrugged as he looked away, watching a waitress pass by with a tray of beers. “I didn’t know if you’d eaten.”

“Not _real_ food.”

Haru watched as Rin pushed a lock of hair behind his ear. Rin's cheeks were flushed as he leaned over the table, then paused, and Haru met him halfway to kiss his lips. It tasted just as sweet as the night before.

Some of Samezuka began to clear out, the night having come to an end, but many stayed to chow down on mini quesadillas and nachos. When the waiter appeared with their dinners, Rin watched as the steak was set before him. Haru would swear he’d started to drool.

“Let me guess,” Rin said, peering at Haru’s plate. “Fish?”

“Shut up,” Haru said, as Rin nudged his leg beneath the table.

The meal was quiet, besides Rin’s knife scraping the plate. He nearly inhaled his steak and mashed potatoes while watching Haru eat. Occasionally they’d catch the other’s eyes, smile, and then return to their respective meals. From the remaining Samezukas, Haru saw Sousuke look around and zero in on their table. He wasn’t surprised when he started to walk over.

“Haru,” he said, failing to mask his lack of surprise. “Fancy seeing you here.” He then turned to Rin, who was busy stuffing his face with steak. “And you. Coming home tonight?”

Even in the dim lighting, there was no mistaking the blush across Rin’s cheeks. _“Sousuke!”_

Sousuke jerked his chin to Haru instead, who shrugged in reply. He looked down to hide his smile.

They stayed until the Samezuka Club had cleared out. Sousuke waved from the parking lot and they both waved back, watching until his bike disappeared down the road. Haru had ordered black coffee and ice cream for them both. He didn’t have any real desire for either but it would draw out the night, and he liked watching Rin enjoy himself. Rin was telling a story about another of their stops that evening and Haru just listened, slowly sucking ice cream off his spoon. When Rin laughed, it rang through the entire backyard. When he smiled, it illuminated the darkness.

“Take me for a ride,” Haru said, his spoon clattering into the empty ice cream bowl.

“I can’t ride without a helmet again,” Rin said. “If anything happened . . .” He trailed off when Haru pointedly ignored him and reached beneath his chair. He set the new helmet on the tabletop, staring steadily at Rin, and it took only a second for Rin to burst into laughter again. “You’re wild, Haru, you know that? C’mon, let’s pay up and get out of here.”

It was dark when Haru climbed onto the back of Rin’s motorcycle. The restaurant was closing up, and the streetlights were few and far between down the road. Rin didn’t have to tell him to hold on; Haru’s arms went around his waist automatically, like he’d always been riding on the back of his bike. His new helmet fit better than Rin’s had, and he’d deliberately purchased one that offered a wider visual range. He propped his chin on Rin’s shoulder as the motorcycle roared to life, and he could see in all directions as they turned onto the road.

Rin craned his neck back, their helmet knocking into each other. “Where do you want to go?” he shouted.

“Anywhere,” Haru shouted back.

Rin leaned forward, bringing Haru with him, and revved the engine again as he accelerated.

Haru rarely ventured out of town. He didn’t drive, so his travels were limited. When Rin turned onto the highway Haru opened his eyes wide, taking in the trees zipping by and the cars they passed one by one. He felt Rin breathe, felt it through his back and through the arms wrapped around his stomach. Rin turned his head to speak but Haru couldn’t hear him, and he shook his head. Rin shrugged, bumping Haru’s chin, and then focused back on the road.

Haru didn’t know much about life outside Iwatobi, but he felt the steadily incline of the highway. His ears popped and he yawned, trying to unpop them. He wished he could see Rin’s face, but the helmet blocked his view. But he felt his abs through the jacket, and the steady pulse of his breathing. Suddenly the trees along the highway cleared and he saw they were on the side of a mountain, looking down over a glittering town. Haru held on tighter as he craned his neck, trying to see the valley below. But then Rin turned off the highway and back onto a tree-lined road, blocking his view, and Haru settled against his back again.

He wasn’t holding on as tightly, he noticed. The ride was smooth, even when they bumped over uneven pavement. Rin slowed a little as they traveled down the desolate road, and squeezed Haru’s forearm a moment before clutching the handles again. Haru had no idea where they were, but he didn’t ask. He propped his chin on Rin's shoulder, the leather smooth and worn under his skin. He wrapped his arms tighter around him, not due to fear, but to feel more of him.

Rin turned onto a road that was in disrepair, one that had been paved years ago but was now cracked and overgrown. It was still relatively smooth—not untraveled—though not wide enough for two cars to pass. There was just enough moonlight to see the asphalt, but Rin seemed to know exactly where to turn so they didn’t steer off the path.

“Rin?” They slowed at a clearing and Haru sat up straighter to see over Rin’s shoulder. Rin said nothing as he killed the engine, standing with one foot on the ground for balance. He peeled off his helmet and shook out his hair, which smacked Haru’s visor. But he didn’t notice, because he was transfixed by the pools of steaming water that lay out before them.

“Figured you’ve never been here,” Rin said, “since it’s a bit out of the way.”

They weren’t the only ones there. Some people were hanging out on rocks, dipping their toes into the hot springs, and some were submerged in the water to their necks. Haru couldn’t tell if they wore clothes. Rin climbed off the bike, keeping it steady for Haru to get off, too. He finally removed his helmet to see it all clearly.

“It’s amazing,” Haru said, holding his helmet in both hands and looking up at the canopy of trees.

“C’mon.” Rin lightly elbowed him in the ribs. “No one cares if you hang around naked. Not much different from a sauna, right?”

Haru set his helmet on the ground beside Rin’s, then took a tentative step toward the springs. He already had a hand on his shirt collar, ready to pull it off over his head. “It’s _better_.”

Rin rushed past him, shedding clothes in his wake, and Haru caught a brief glance of his ass before he jumped right into the water. Haru frowned, stripping down and jumping in before Rin even had a chance to turn around.

The night air was cool, and the spring blissfully warm. Haru floated on his back—his hips dipped beneath the water—and stared at the smattering of stars through the branches.

Through Rin didn’t touch him, Haru could still feel him float beside him. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Haru tilted his head back, taking in the whole of the sky. The water warmed his skin, but his hand burned when Rin grasped it. Haru closed his eyes, letting the warmth wash over him.

“I’m crazy about you, Haru,” Rin whispered, his words flowing through the water to reach Haru’s ears. “Have been since I stepped into your shop.” His soft laugh ripped in the pool. “That’s not the reason I got inked, of course.” He paused, as if waiting for a reply, but Haru only squeezed his hand. He was listening. “But it . . . made it easier. I’m happy it was you.”

Haru turned his head and saw Rin staring up at the sky, eyes wide open, a soft smile on his lips. His cheeks were flushed from the hot spring, or maybe not entirely from the hot spring. Haru drifted closer and Rin closed his eyes, ready for the kiss that brushed his cheek.

“Me too.” Distantly, someone laughed, and then there was a splash. Rin had loosened his grip and now traced the creased lines of Haru’s palm. “Cherry blossoms,” Haru said, staring at the flowers twined into his skin. Despite the warmth of the spring, Rin shivered when Haru touched his shoulder. He traced the branches, down to the waterline and then back up, circling his arm. “Beautiful and fragile.”

Rin turned his head toward him. “Is that how you see me?”

“And vicious,” he said, holding back a smirk. “Like a shark.”

“You’re an ass.” Rin hardly made a splash as he moved, quickly and stealthily, his arms around Haru’s waist without warning. But his movements were gentle, cradling Haru’s body as they drifted, both hands spread over his naked back. Haru began to sweat, his skin warmer still when Rin’s body pressed to his. But then Rin backed away suddenly, as if remembering their stark nudity beneath the water.

Haru cupped Rin's cheek, studying every one of his facial features—his eyes, wide and sparkling; his nose, pink across the bridge; his mouth, a permanent smile. “I’m getting another tattoo,” Haru said, watching the slight lift of Rin’s eyebrows.

“Yeah? Of what?”

Haru shrugged. “Cherry blossoms.”

Rin looked him over, scaling up his body until their eyes met. “Nah. Not you.”

Haru hid his smile by pressing their lips together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter is [here](http://letsswimtogethernanase.tumblr.com/post/104273539343/) on tumblr.)


	6. Chapter 6

“Haru.”

Haru pressed his face to the pillow, inhaling a comforting scent that wasn’t his.

_“Haru.”_

“Mmph.”

“Hey.” A hand was on his shoulder, warm on naked skin. “Hey, I’m scared.”

Haru blinked and rolled over, coming face to face with Rin. He was propped up on an arm, looking down at him, and Haru wondered how long he’d been watching. The blanket was pulled up to their chests, shoulders exposed to the cool night air. “What’s wrong?”

Rin twisted his arm to look at the still-new tattoo. “It hurts.”

It took some effort for Haru to sit up, bundled and warm in the blanket. Rin’s ink was still fresh, shiny with the ointment he’d applied before bed. “You shouldn’t swim.”

Rin’s eyebrow twitched. “Why didn’t you say anything?!”

Haru grasped his arm at the elbow, twisting it farther to get a closer look. He loosened his grip when Rin flinched. “It’s in the aftercare guide.”

Rin gritted his teeth. “I meant at the _spring_.” But Haru was already sliding out of bed, adjusting his boxers as he moved to the bathroom. He paused, looked over his shoulder, and Rin grumbled as he followed.

Rin knew the routine: He sat on the edge of the tub as Haru gathered his ointments, riffling through a basket of bottles and tubes he’d pulled out from under the sink. The bathroom window was cracked open and, despite being two in the morning, they could hear the distant sound of passing traffic. Haru straddled the tub as he sat beside him, unscrewing the cap off the ointment. Rin winced when it was applied, despite Haru’s delicate application. He lifted his head, watching Haru work in the reflection of the bathroom mirror.

“How long until I can swim?” Rin asked, as Haru measured out a length of gauze.

“Two weeks until it heals.” He tore off a piece of medical tape with his teeth. “But watch it for a few months.” He thought to add _not literally_ as Rin studied the way Haru taped up his arm, but he silently pressed the last piece of tape to his skin. He paused before kissing Rin’s forehead, still amazed that he could act upon those small impulses. “You can take it off in the morning.”

Haru stood then, one foot in the tub and the other on the tiled bathroom floor. He’d expected Rin to follow but he still sat there, looking up at him, his lips curling into a small smile. Rin scooted closer and wrapped an arm around his waist, kissing along the elastic of his boxers. He crooked a finger into the elastic, tugging it down slightly to kiss farther down his belly.

Sleep was a mere interruption, a necessary annoyance between kissing and the slow merge of their bodies. Rin’s hand slid down to his ass, holding on as he kissed around to his hips. _I’m crazy about you_ , he’d said, the words still bright and clear in Haru’s mind. _Crazy_ was a good word for it, Haru had decided, when he’d brought Rin home again. When the front door hadn’t even closed before they’d started kissing again. With Rin’s damp shirt in the living room, because they’d started shedding clothes before the bedroom had come into view.

“Hmm?” Rin traced along his hip, tugging the boxers down farther. The fish, Haru knew, without looking. Rin kissed the small tattoo, then traced its outline with a finger. “Cute,” he murmured, before kissing it again.

Rin groaned when Haru moved away, stepping out of the bathtub to plant both feet on the cold tile floor. But he obediently followed to the bedroom, hands on Haru’s shifting hips as they walked. They didn’t return to bed, not right away; Haru stood while Rin’s arms encircled his body like water. He was hard, pressing to Haru’s ass, and Haru leaned back to kiss him again. He fidgeted when Rin’s hand slid into his boxers, but it only went for the tattoo that he now knew was there.

“It was my first,” Haru whispered, while their lips still touched.

“It’s you.” Rin smiled, nipping at his lower lip. His hand moved northward, across his stomach and chest, over his shoulder and up his jaw. He touched Haru’s ear and the industrial piercing that bridged the cartilage. “And this.”

“I like that,” he replied defensively, ducking away.

Rin kissed his temple. “I like it, too.”

Haru struggled to stay awake, closing his eyes and concentrating on the damp kisses on his neck. He pushed back against Rin’s erection and Rin’s groans kept him alert, the low pant in his ear. Haru turned and held to Rin’s forearms—careful not to touch the dressing—before falling back to the bed, bringing him along.

It would be impossible to fall asleep, even if he’d wanted to, with Rin pressing between his legs, his hand high up under his boxers. They kissed like it was the answer to everything, the answer to why this man—this near stranger—was in his bed, again, when Haru hadn’t known his name two weeks prior. To why Haru still burned with the wind of the open road, with the heat of a spring. To why his clothes and his bed and his tattoo parlor smelled like the sweat of someone else’s skin.

Rin arched his back when Haru’s hand went down the back of his trunks. His deep inhale crushed Haru’s chest, leaving them both gasping for breath. Haru arched back, extending his neck for Rin’s warm, damp mouth.

“What are we doing?” Rin asked, even as both hands worked at the elastic of Haru’s boxers.

“Everything,” Haru replied, the word snaking up toward the ceiling. His hips were warm from Rin’s palms and he lifted them up, waiting to be undressed, waiting to expose himself to Rin.

“Haru.”

Haru lowered back down to the mattress. Rin’s hands hadn’t moved, still trapped in the band of his boxers. His gaze fell to Haru’s chest, and then farther down, eyes widening like he hadn’t known the position of his own hands. “Are you nervous?” Haru asked.

Rin jerked his head away. “No . . .”

“Rin, if you don’t—”

“I’ve never done anything,” he blurted. He stared at the bedroom door rather than looking down at Haru, as if that would hide the confliction on his face. “But I . . . I _want_ to. With you.” He stroked Haru’s hips with his thumbs.

Haru combed Rin’s hair. It was still slightly damp from his shower, but soft through his fingers. He lifted up to meet him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Rin held tighter around his hips, bowing his head to Haru’s slow trail of kisses along his jaw and down to his neck.

“I want you to feel good,” Haru whispered, and Rin shuddered. “But tell me if you want to stop.”

It had been years. _Years_ since Haru had eased someone onto the mattress, confident as he kissed down his chest. He hadn’t thought he’d missed kissing someone’s cock, but he was thrilled that Rin was hard so easily. Haru looked up as he kissed Rin’s stomach, wiggling him out of his trunks. Rin visibly panted as he stared at the ceiling, as Haru dropped his underwear to the floor.

There were condoms and lube in the night table drawer. He’d purchased them that afternoon, after spending too long selecting a motorcycle helmet. He hadn’t known if they’d use them, or even if Rin would come home with him that night. Rin whimpered when Haru licked his cock, running his tongue from base to tip. He massaged the trail of saliva with a thumb and then Rin’s hand was on the back of his neck, lightly massaging him back, the silent urge to keep going.

Rin was thick, and Haru’s mouth ached the moment he began to suck him. But it was worth it to hear that quick intake of breath, to feel him squirm beneath him. He paused when Rin breathed his name, and he glanced up to see him watching. Haru wished his tattoo wasn’t concealed again beneath that dressing. The cherry blossoms _did_ suit him, he knew for sure now—Rin’s eyes were shiny with tears, his eyebrows knit in disbelief. Haru wanted to laugh. Mere weeks ago Rin was just another member of a motorcycle club, an unknown in a red leather jacket . . .

Haru came up to kneel between Rin’s legs, rubbing his jaw as he looked down the plane of Rin’s body. He’d seen his skin before, in the tattoo parlor and the sauna, in the warmth of the hot spring. He lightly brushed the inside of Rin’s thigh, and that action was enough to make Rin smile.

“You’re beautiful,” Rin said, sitting up to meet him. He was unperturbed to kiss Haru’s lips, knowing they tasted of himself. Rin’s hands wandered down to his boxers again, impatiently snapping the elastic. Haru lay down, bringing Rin with him, and reached into the night table drawer as they kissed.

He remembered the first time Rin had stayed over—had it really only been the night before?—when Haru had stood in the bedroom doorway, watching him sleep. He was still surprised that his parking space was occupied, and by a motorcycle that wasn’t his. They were doing it all in reverse order—he’d felt the wonder of sleeping together before they’d had sex, the intimacy of naked skin while they were yet strangers. Haru lifted his pelvis as his boxers finally slid off, and Rin wasn’t subtle about staring at his cock as he tossed them aside. He pressed the small bottle of lube into Rin’s hands and propped his legs up, angling his knees to position Rin between them. If Rin was surprised by the sudden appearance of the lube, he didn’t show it.

He didn’t want to speak, watching as Rin uncapped the bottle with shaking hands. What did Rin know of lubricant and preparation? Had he ever opened a condom wrapper? The night table drawer still gaped open and Rin glanced into its empty void, as if knowing they were in there.

“I’ve never had sex,” Haru said, breaking the easy silence. With the absence of clothes it was easier to see Rin relax, with the unclenching of his muscles and his fists. He nodded, experimentally sliding a hand between Haru’s legs. His hand was slick as he rubbed his balls, handling them carefully. Then he reached farther back, watching Haru’s face as he teased him. His eyebrows knitted, already anticipating Haru’s discomfort, but Haru shifted and lifted himself higher to make it easier for Rin.

He’d expected it to hurt. But it was _weird_ , not painful, when Rin inserted his lube-coated finger. But still, he studied Rin—he visually traced his facial features, working down to where the tattoo was hidden.

“Take it off,” Haru said, his voice hitching. He jerked his head to the dressing.

“You said in the morning!”

“Please.”

Rin peeled off the tape one-handed, the other still working inside Haru. He felt his body relax when the cherry blossoms were exposed, his own artwork permanently etched into Rin’s skin. Rin’s movements were more natural without the dressing, too, like they were still swimming, floating in a pool full of cherry blossoms. Haru tensed when he crooked his finger but nodded, bracing himself as he was stretched wider.

“You’re tired,” Rin whispered, arching down to kiss him. Haru had ignored the steadily-increasing weariness. He glanced at the digital clock on the night table as Rin kissed his neck—three a.m. He pushed down onto Rin’s fingers, surprising even himself. He heard the flip-top cap of the lube bottle open again without having to request it.

“Did you know?” Rin asked, as he tried to open a condom one-handed. Haru took it from him, fingers shaking as he ripped open the wrapper, then watched his own hands roll it onto Rin’s cock. Even that simple movement sent him moaning, Haru’s hands gliding down his length.

“I hoped,” he replied, clenching his jaw when Rin’s cock pressed against him.

“Hold onto me.” But Haru was already holding his back, feeling the tight muscle beneath his skin. He concentrated on Rin’s body, on his muscles and the ink decorating his shoulder, as he gently pushed inside, little by little.

Of course he’d known, from the moment Rin had stepped into the tattoo parlor. The motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm, the red leather jacket. The way he’d grinned as he’d studied Haru’s portfolio. The needle mapping out the design on his skin, focused _only_ on the skin, attempting to ignore all but Rin’s shoulder in the overwhelming presence of his body.

“Haru.” Rin’s voice was barely a whisper. His eyes were closed, lips slightly parted, his body slowly moving within him. “Oh my God, Haru. Oh my God.”

The pain of the first ink, the sudden shock of the needle. The living ink flowing beneath the skin, absorbed not just into the flesh but into the entire being.

“Are you okay, Haru?”

Accepting the ink, taking pleasure in the pain, tears leaking from the corners of the eyes as the lips turn into a smile.

“Yes, Rin.”

 

Sometime during the night, it had started to rain.

It wasn’t particularly cold, but Haru had cocooned himself in a sheet as he stood at the bedroom window. Construction workers, mostly, were down below, or the sporadic commuter yawning with a Styrofoam cup of coffee and an umbrella. It was the beginning hour of sunrise, though the first rays were hidden in the gray of the clouds. Haru watched the sleepy town come alive.

From behind him, the mattress creaked. He pretended not to hear Rin’s quiet steps across the hardwood floor. He feigned surprise when a hand rested on his shoulder, and smiled when a kiss was pressed to his jaw.

“Morning already?” Rin asked.

Haru shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Mmm.” Rin kissed the exposed skin of his shoulder. “Good.”

Haru extended one arm, shocked in the sudden cold, allowing Rin within the sheet. He hugged Haru’s side as Haru wrapped them both in, their combined body heat insulating the cocoon.

“It was your first time, too,” Rin said, as they stared down at the street.

“Yes.”

Rin nuzzled his shoulder, then fit his head in the space beneath Haru’s chin. It was a little awkward, with Rin being slightly taller, but comfortable. “I thought you had experience.”

“Not sex.”

The word itself was their secret, the weight of the act in the silence that followed. They were both naked beneath the sheet, and Haru didn’t ever want to wear clothes in front of him again. It didn’t feel appropriate to conceal their skin.

“How do you feel?” Rin asked, a hand resting on the small of his back.

“Sore,” Haru admitted. “But good. How’s the tattoo?”

“It’s perfect, Haru.” He kissed the underside of Haru’s chin.

They stopped speaking. Beneath the window, there was a growing cluster of commuters at the bus stop. The mass of colored umbrellas concealed their holders, blending together to form a single canopy.

Haru turned away from the window to face Rin. He pushed a strand of hair behind his ear, which made Rin smile. He ran a finger down his cheek and along his jaw. Rin’s eyes were on him, unwavering. He bowed his head when Haru threaded his fingers through his hair, but lifted up again to kiss his lips.

Haru had never considered whether the building across the street could see through his bedroom window. The road was wide, but not wide enough to miss shadows passing over it. In that moment, he wished they could. Kissing the man he’d just made love to, trying to prolong the night. He was glad for the rain, for it helped to ignore the rising sun.

“I want you to meet someone,” Haru said, when he’d managed to pull away.

“Oh?” Rin smirked. “Meeting the family already?”

Haru pulled the sheet around them tighter. “Something like that.” They kissed again.

 

* * *

 

They could have rode the train, but Haru wanted to take the bike. The roads were slick but it had stopped raining, and Rin had teased that Haru just wanted to show off. He’d made an obvious show of checking Rin out before admitting it was true.

The air was cool, but it felt good as they rode down the highway. Haru kept on fidgeting, which Rin yelled at him for, and for a moment he wished they’d taken the train instead. His backside was still sore, but thankfully it was a fairly short trip. Shorter than by train, at least, because they didn’t have to stop on the way.

“You’re taking me to a tattoo parlor?” Rin asked, when they pulled up to the front. The building was nearly twice the size of Haru’s, and the door was propped open to prospective customers. “Isn’t this cheating?”

Haru dismounted the bike before removing his helmet. “Do you want that shark?”

He could see Rin’s eyes widen through the helmet's visor. “Really?”

The tattoo parlor was bustling compared to Haru’s, but the place also had a full staff. Its walls were lined with samples from wall to ceiling, which looked claustrophobic now that they were used to soothing ocean waves. Rin turned away from the samples when someone laughed from behind the counter.

“How nice of you to visit me!” the man said. “And this must be Rin!”

Haru set a hand on Rin’s back. “My mentor,” he said, nodding to the grinning man behind the counter.

“Goro Sasabe.” He extended a hand for Rin to shake. “You can call me Goro!” He was an older man, but didn’t act the part. He wore a tie-died muscle shirt, and his tattoo sleeves were equally colorful and vibrant. A star was visible on the side of his head beneath his close-cropped hair. “Finally getting that dolphin?”

Rin raised an eyebrow. “ _Dolphin_ , Haru?”

Haru scowled. “He wouldn’t let me get it the first time.” Goro grinned wider when Rin couldn’t stop laughing.

They were waved behind the counter, where sections were partitioned off with curtains like a hospital. Haru had called him that morning for them both, and Goro had insisted he could squeeze in a couple small aquatic creatures. He already had samples laid out in his booth, which Rin and Haru flipped through as Goro set up the equipment.

“Maybe the back of my shoulder,” Rin said, looking at a small shark in the binder. “The other one, I mean. I still have to _work_.”

Haru smiled as he touched a dolphin sketch, which was larger than Rin’s prospective creature. “My chest,” he said, which made Rin flush.

The background music made it sound like they were on a tropical island. Haru stripped off his shirt and took a seat in the customer chair, while Rin hung out on an extra stool. “Let’s see the cherry blossoms,” Goro said, jerking his head to Rin. He quickly peeled off the leather jacket. “ _Whoa_.” He lightly punched Haru’s arm. “Good job, kid.”

Goro talked as he worked, trying to catch up with his former student in the months since they’d last spoken. When the stencil of the dolphin was transferred onto Haru’s chest, Rin nodded his approval.

“Why didn’t you let him get it before?” Rin asked, ignoring Haru’s obvious glare.

Goro laughed as he flipped on the tattoo machine. Rin didn’t even flinch at the sound. “It wasn’t what he wanted,” he replied. Haru stared at the ceiling, bracing himself for the moment the needle touched his skin. Rin held his hand as Goro started outlining. “He wanted something else more.”

“A gay merman,” Rin replied.

Haru jerked his hand away. “Shut up, Rin.”

“Nah,” Goro said. He didn’t look up from tracing the transfer, but smiled at their bickering. “The fish was first. He— oh.” Goro went silent, leaning farther over his tracing.

“He knows,” Haru replied.

“By the way,” Goro said, as he quickly moved around the outline, “nice bike you’ve got there.”

Rin perked up. “Thanks!” Haru settled back into the chair, forgetting the pain of the needle, as he listened to Rin rave about the Samezuka Club. His gaze wandered to Rin’s tattoo, already planning when he’d convert it into a full sleeve. When he met his eyes again, Rin was smiling.

“You all right, Haru?” he asked.

“Fine.” When Goro spun around to his workbench to switch the colors, Haru admired the outline of the dolphin arcing around his pecs. Rin wheeled his stool over, holding Haru’s hand in both of his. He massaged the palm with his thumbs as he leaned in for a closer look.

There’d been a small part of Haru’s mind that feared everything would change, that the wonder and intrigued of Rin would fade once they’d opened themselves to each other. Haru stared at the side of his face as he praised Goro’s work, watching his lips move, those same lips that had explored his body. Rin sat with his legs open and Haru stared between them, like he was still undressed and working inside him.

Rin backed up when Goro wheeled back over, his tattoo machine full of blue ink. But they still held hands, arms reaching over the chasm of the floor as the color burst into his new tattoo. Rin had watched each step of the initial outline, but now his eyes met Haru’s. They didn’t look away from each other, not for a moment, and even Goro eventually stopped speaking because neither was listening. The buzz of the tattoo machine filled the small enclosure, but even that faded into the background of the other running machines and the island paradise soundtrack.

Everything _had_ changed—his body had accepted Rin’s fire like new ink, a permanent reflection of himself. Haru openly smiled, holding his hand as the dolphin came to life over his heart.

The ink was alive, and so was he.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't think this would be ending so soon. *cries*
> 
> Thanks for coming along on this wild ride. I've learned more about tattooing than I ever thought I would...
> 
> (chapter is [here](http://letsswimtogethernanase.tumblr.com/post/104702853253) on tumblr.)

**Author's Note:**

> Now with a [playlist](https://8tracks.com/quasigeek/inked)!


End file.
